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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574055">All the Reasons We Are Real</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlies_secret_closet/pseuds/charlies_secret_closet'>charlies_secret_closet</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiticas/pseuds/jupiticas'>jupiticas</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abusive John Winchester, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Artist Jack Kline, Bad Parent John Winchester, Blood and Injury, Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, Castiel Has Self-Worth Issues (Supernatural), Castiel and Dean Winchester Behave Like a Married Couple, Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Dean Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues, Dean Winchester Teaches Castiel to be Human, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Depressed Castiel (Supernatural), Destiel Angst, Destiel Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Homophobic John Winchester, Human Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Long, M/M, Mutual Pining, Original Character(s), Other, Pining Cas, Pining Dean, References to Canon, Sam Winchester Knows, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Worth Issues, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Suicidal Castiel (Supernatural), Suicidal Dean Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, The Winchester Gospels (Supernatural), Violence, dean teaches cas to play pool, destiel scenes, graphic description of violence, i promise it has a happy ending guys, sam the ultimate destiel shipper, supernatural scenes, very slow burn, you will fucking cry i'm just telling you now</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 04:34:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>96,466</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28574055</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlies_secret_closet/pseuds/charlies_secret_closet, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jupiticas/pseuds/jupiticas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Slow burn. Much angst. Much fluff. Original Canon Universe. Season 15 fix-it-fic. </p><p>WARNING: do not read in public, unless you are okay with sobbing around other people. </p><p>Sam is tired of it. Tired of the staring contests and the eye-sex and the 'standing two inches apart' thing. With a little help from Rowena and Heller-Queen-Charlie, Sam becomes the matchmaker: and tries to make his ship canon. </p><p>Meanwhile, Cas is hiding a secret, and Dean is hiding his feelings. Until one night, when their long-awaited happiness becomes their greatest sorrow.</p><p>Written in the original canon universe, this fic uses many canon scenes from the series to show that Destiel doesn't need fanfiction to be real. It has always been there, it will always be there, and it is REAL.</p><p>Charlie:<br/>tumblr: charlies-secret-closet<br/>twitter: @peaceoutHELLERS</p><p>Jupiticas:<br/>tumblr: jupiticas<br/>twitter: @jupiticas</p><p>Extra Note from Blu: I didn't start writing/beta'ing until Chapter 22, so this fic is, for the most part, Charlie's. Thanks!!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Stevie (Supernatural: The Rupture), Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Jack Kline/Original Character(s), Kaia Nieves/Claire Novak, Lee Webb/Dean Winchester (past)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>633</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>458</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>DICK, Destiel, Destiel Ship Stories, Favorite Destiel Fics, Supernatural, The best of Destiel</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. In the Beginning, Sam Winchester was Tired</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>WHAT'S UP, BITCHES!! Let me tell ya a story...</p><p>A long time ago, in a fascinating website called Tumblr, I came across a post.<br/>The post that started it all. It sunk its tantalizing claws into my writer's brain, and for weeks, there was little else I could think about. </p><p>'What would happen if Sam trapped Cas and Dean in a sigil, and made them talk about their feelings for each other?'</p><p>Finally, one night in December of 2020, when I was feeling in the 'mode,' I settled down in my Microsoft Notes program, and began to write. I thought maybe the fic in its entirety would reach 15k words: if I was lucky.</p><p>I had no plot line, and to be perfectly honest: the basic ideas I did have for the ending were utter crap. I didn't like it. I didn't think I would ever finish it. </p><p>And then, on Wed, January 13th of 2021: a reader by the name of jupiticas left the first comment.<br/>and everything changed.</p><p>Now, jupiticas (Blu) is my co-author, and the best friend I've ever had. I am the luckiest person in the world, to have met Blu.<br/>They gave me ideas. Motivation. Happiness. Laughter. They fixed my plot-holes. They wrote the fluff I couldn't write, because I'm addicted to angst.<br/>The only reason this fic exists is because of Blu. </p><p>I am so grateful to all of you. And I am so grateful for you, Blu. </p><p>Thank you for reading our fic<br/>♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Enough was enough. Sam was tired of it. Tired of it all.</p><p>Of the tension, the frustration, the waiting, the constant fighting and anxiety, the obliviousness the stupidity the side-stepping and awkward conversations. And above all: he was tired of watching his dumb-ass brother stick to the inside of that damn closet. And the <em>eye-sex. </em>Don't even get him started on the <em>eye-sex. </em></p><p>It was all too familiar, once again hanging out in the background, pretending to ignore Dean and Cas's staring contest. <em>Did they really have to do it while he was there, </em>literally<em> right in front of him?</em></p><p>Sam looked up from his computer, feeling like that third-wheel best friend in all those rom-com movies Dean made him watch, his eyebrow raised in exasperation at the sight that greeted him. The two idiots had just finished their weekly ritual which consisted of yelling at each other until eventually the cursing and insults gave way to agonizingly lengthy make-out sessions using explicitly their eyes—sessions which always managed to contain an unbelievable amount of sexual tension. Sessions which, for unknown reasons, always managed to occur while Sam was around.</p><p>It was exhausting at best, and completely infuriating at worst. If those two ever <em>did </em>get their heads out of their asses and admitted their feelings, their future make-up sex was going to be destructive. <em>And loud. </em>Sam would have to invest in sound-proof headphones, just in case. He wondered if Cas's abilities included refurbishing smashed walls… or bed frames… or tables. </p><p>
  <em>This has GOT to stop.</em>
</p><p>Sam groaned inwardly, rolling his eyes into the back of his head and flipping his laptop shut.</p><p>"Guys."</p><p>Cas and Dean ignored him, they were still glaring into the other's eyes as if having an intense argument that Sam couldn't hear. Their heads were ridiculously close.</p><p>Sam coughed. <em>Loudly. </em></p><p>Grudgingly, Dean broke eye-contact and turned his lingering anger towards the interrupter. "What."</p><p>"I found us a case." Sam motioned at his computer and folded his arms.</p><p>Dean gave a quick glare back at the angel, who was watching the hunter with no less intensity than before.</p><p>If Cas initiated another staring session with his brother even <em>ONE</em> more time today, Sam thought he might just actually invest in a foghorn. Blow the damn thing right in their faces. He smirked at the thought, imagining the look on Dean's face. Actually, if anything, his older brother would probably end up stealing the thing and using it against him. <em>Cross that off the idea list. </em></p><p>"so get this: Dean you remember that case we did when we were younger? With dad, the one with the vamps and the weirdly obvious attacks?"</p><p>Dean nodded, giving Cas a wary glance as the angel joined him to look over Sam's shoulder. "Yeah, I remember. The apprentice vamps and the dead chicks they killed for their 'owners' or whatever. Weird masks, too."</p><p>"Yeah, that's the one." Sam flipped open his laptop and returned to his previous screen, reading the article aloud. "I think it happened again: here, listen—</p><p><em>'Three teenage females (names omitted) were recently found dead in the same parking lot of a local highschool' </em>uh<em>—</em>wait, here it is—'<em>all three girls' bodies were found completely drained of blood, and each displayed a strange bite mark on the front of the throats, located along the internal jugular vein. The police are baffled by these unusual murders. and are waiting to release the full report until they have gathered more information.'</em></p><p>Sam finished his reading, and glanced over his shoulder at Dean and Cas, who looked mostly confused.</p><p>Sam frowned. "What?"</p><p>"I mean… yeah it's obviously our kind of thing, but how do you know for sure it's the same type of vamps we fought with Dad? These things could just be regular blood-suckers. Idiots, for sure. But… regular."</p><p>Sam smirked. "You remember where it took place, the job with Dad?"</p><p>"uh—" dean snapped his fingers—"California. And we thought that was weird because usually vamps prefer the less populated, shadier areas, with lots of abandoned warehouses and all that crap."</p><p>Sam pointed at the screen, and looked back at his brother. "Los Angeles, California. Right in the heart of it all. And, I made a few calls, hacked into some security camera systems that were located around the highschool parking lot, accessed the footage from that week, and get this: all of the attackers' faces were covered with white masks. I mean that can't be a coincidence."</p><p>Dean's face brightened, and he strutted out of the room, fists raised in victory. "Awesome. This is. Awesome. Pack your bags, Cas, we're going to Hollywood."</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Sam straightened up and flipped his laptop shut. Cas was staring after Dean, looking almost… regretful.</p><p>"Cas?" the angel turned to look at Sam, but refused to meet the hunter's eyes.</p><p>
  <em>Oh. </em>
</p><p>"You can't come, can you? More angel problems?"</p><p>Cas nodded, and sank, exhausted, into a nearby chair, fingers massaging the bridge of his nose.</p><p>"Cas, man, you're obviously stressed. Can't heaven manage itself for a week or two while you're gone? Dean<em>—we</em>—would love to have you with us on this one. Especially if it's anything like last time."</p><p>Cas's voice was raw. "I.. Wish that I could, Sam. Especially for—but I can't abandon my duty. Perhaps I will be able to visit. Nothing more."</p><p>"What?" Dean stood in the doorway, stone cold. Cas met Dean's eyes, apologies written in his expression. Dean understood there would be no negotiating.</p><p>"Dammit Cas. Fine. You know what?" he angrily slammed his duffle bag on the table, and walked off. "I'm done asking. Go 'save heaven' or whatever, man, I don't care anymore."</p><p>Cas vanished before Sam could say anything more, but the hunter thought he could detect a slight redness in the angels' eyes.</p><p>He had to do something before the two of them got in another fight. But who the hell could give him relationship advice about a situation like this?</p><p>After a minute or two, Sam pulled out his phone and found the number. He had a quick call to make.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Who Ya Gonna Call</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I just learned how to convert my italic text to HTML script! </p><p>Yay!</p><p>If you also are annoyed by AO3's deletion of your italicized words, here is how you do it:</p><p>Go to https://wordhtml.com/</p><p>Copy your text from another program, I use Microsoft Notes. Make sure everything you wish to have italicized/boldened/etc. is already done. </p><p>Paste that entire thing into this wordhtml.com program. Check everything is working properly by finding a word that should be italicized. It should have a &lt; em &gt; on either side. If you see that, that means it's going to work. </p><p> </p><p> Sometimes this program is glitchy, and you have to re-italicize everything INSIDE the word editor. </p><p> </p><p>Then click the HTML button to the right, choose "Clean" </p><p> </p><p>Copy all that shit again, and paste directly into AO3. </p><p> </p><p>I'm sure a lot of you already knew this, but for those who don't, there you go :)</p><p>-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"I still don't think this is a good idea," Dean huffed for the fourth time.</p><p>Groaning, Sam tossed their duffle bags into the back seat, then gave Dean a look over the top of the impala that he hoped meant 'I've heard this a thousand times would you please shut up.'</p><p>"Dean. Jack is perfectly capable of staying out of trouble for a week or so. He'll be here at the bunker, so nothing should be able to get at him. And it's the bunker, man. It's a freaking fortress made of rock and binding spells. Everything will be fine, so can you please stop being a worry-wart because it's giving me a headache."</p><p>"It's not the bunker I'm worried about," Dean pushed. "Jack's mojo still hasn't fully recharged. And we still aren't sure which sigils are intact and which ones are freaking finger-painting leftovers!" Dean jabbed a finger at Sam's chest. "And I'm not a—a <em>worry-wart." </em></p><p>Sam raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Oh really."</p><p>"YES, really."</p><p>They slid into the impala, doors slammed simultaneously. Sam realized Dean was sitting awfully still, as if hesitant to leave. He rolled his eyes. "Dude. Jack is going to be FINE. Can we get moving already?"</p><p>But Dean only bounced his knee up and down nervously. "It's not that. I just—I was hoping Cas would be able to join us on this one, ya know? The dude's been working so hard for heaven, and I," he scratched the back of neck and sighed.</p><p>"I just wish he were here."</p><p>Sam had no adequate answer to that. He rolled the window down, Dean started the engine with a grumbling purr, and they set off down the fogged lonely road.</p><p>-------------------------------------------</p><p>"Hello Dean."</p><p>"Gah!" the car swerved slightly, but Dean had, for the most part, become accustomed to angels and demons popping in <em>en route </em>for unexpected visits</p><p>"Cas?" Sam squinted back at the trenchcoated angel. "I thought you were in heaven? I thought you were busy?"</p><p>"Yeah, <em>Cas," </em>Dean said waspishly, "I thought you said your girlfriend needed you<em>."</em></p><p>Cas retaliated with an exasperated glare. "Hannah is currently in a meeting for which my presence is not… required. And she is not my 'girlfriend,' Dean. Angels do not meddle with labels as temporary as 'girlfriends' or 'boyfriends.' Unlike human relationships, we choose partners for life; bond-mates, as they would be called in the English tongue."</p><p>"Oh." Dean considered this, surprised. "Have you ever—have you ever thought of—" he didn't honestly know how to finish the sentence without sounding intrusive. But Cas just smiled softly, knowing what he meant.</p><p>"I fear my reputation has forever destroyed any chance I previously had of finding an angelic mate, Dean. So, no, if that is what you are asking: I haven't found anyone yet."</p><p>Dean thought the angel sounded almost… wistful? They sat for a moment in silence. Dean was sure that his geeky brother was excitedly soaking in the new information, and would probably record it all in that laptop of his later. He realized with a pang that for having an angelic best friend, they sure didn't know much about angels.</p><p>Cas finally broke the moment with a rough cough. "Anyway: I thought I'd drop in for a visit."</p><p>Dean grunted. "Hell of a visit. Almost killed us all."</p><p>Cas tilted his head in confusion. "Dean you are driving on a straight road through a flat field of grass with no trees and no other vehicles in sight. It is very unlikely any of us would have died had you driven slightly off path."</p><p>Dean coughed, but Sam thought he could hear a faint laugh. "well. Glad you're here anyway."</p><p>It was quiet for a moment, but more comfortable than any silence in a long time. Peaceful. Cas seemed to have that effect, at times.</p><p>Sam's phone rang from the inside of his jacket pocket. Dean glanced over curiously as the phone was fished out.</p><p>"Who is it?"</p><p>Sam looked up startled. "It's uh, it's Rowena."</p><p>"Rowena? What the hell does <em>she </em>want?"</p><p>"I don't know—Hey! Rowena. Uh—what's up?" Sam tried to sound casual, hoping Dean and Cas couldn't hear the voice on the other end. He turned the volume down as low as possible.</p><p>"Hello there, Sammm." The witches' accent sounded flirtatious and amused as always, if perhaps a bit more than usual. Sam knew why she was calling.</p><p>"Did you receive the spell I sent you?"</p><p>"Uh—yeah, we're <em>fine Rowena, how are you?" </em>Sam choked out loudly, hoping she could take a hint and save the call for later. Later, when Dean wasn't around.</p><p>"ahhh. So you've got yourself some company do you? And how is the poor love-sick Dean?"</p><p>Sam bit his cheek, desperately praying Dean couldn't hear. "Yes, we're going on a hunt. Vamps in California."</p><p>"Samm, this is silly. You know you could just <em>ask </em>him, he IS your brother after all."</p><p>Dean and Cas were glancing over curiously, and Sam gave him a gesture telling him to pay attention to the road. "Yes, we'll let you know if we need anything."</p><p>He heard a faint laugh on the other end, and then the call ended with a static click. "Thanks Rowena."</p><p>He hung up, and Dean looked over again. Suspicious. "So? What'd she want?"</p><p>"uh," sam tried to sound like he couldn't care less. "she was just wondering what we were up to, and if we needed any spells. She sounded bored." He shrugged.</p><p>"uh-huh." Dean obviously wasn't buying it, but thankfully, he didn't pry into the matter further.</p><p>"What do you want to listen to, Cas?"</p><p>Sam scoffed and gave him a shocked look. "I thought your whole saying was 'driver picks the music and shotgun shuts his cakehole!'"</p><p>Dean shrugged. "We'll have the whole road trip to listen to our music, but Cas is only here for a bit, right Cas?" He flipped on the radio just as another call came in on Sam's phone.</p><p>"Oh you gotta be kidding me." Dean gave him a look and laughed. "Man, I guess you're the ghostbuster today, Sammy. <em>'who ya gonna call?'"</em></p><p>"Dean," Sam said seriously, "quit it. It's Jack."</p><p>Dean immediately reached over and grabbed the phone from Sam's hand, and answered it, ignoring Sam's glare.</p><p>"Jack? Hey, kid, how's it going? It's only been six hours, have you burned down the bunker already?"</p><p>Dean could practically hear the half-angel squint in confusion. Another Cas-like similarity.</p><p>"Why would I burn down the bunker? I—wasn't <em>supposed</em> to do that, right?"</p><p>Dean chuckled, and turned on speaker-phone, so Sam and Cas could hear. "No, Jack, you're good. Don't worry about it."</p><p>A splat, and then loud laughter, that obviously wasn't coming from Jack. Then:</p><p>"Actually, Claire and Kaia are here. That's why I called."</p><p>Sam gave Dean a surprised glance, then looked back at the phone. "Jack, why—"</p><p>"We're making brownies! Claire says they are 'out of this world.' I am not sure what that means, but they are… certainly messier than we anticipated. And she keeps talking about a 'secret ingredient?' but she won't tell me what it is."</p><p>More laughter. Dean smacked his forehead on the Impala's steering wheel.</p><p>"Hey Jack," Sam spoke loudly, and Dean gestured at him to be quiet.</p><p>"Sam! Hello! Is Cas there too?"</p><p>"Hello Jack." Dean could hear the angel's fond smile, even without looking.</p><p>"Hey, Jack: me again. Uh, just curious, but why are Claire and Kaia there? Actually—hey—put Claire on the phone, wouldja?"</p><p>"Hi, Dean." Claire. He could hear her signature eye-roll.</p><p>"Hey—Claire, does Jody know you guys are there, or do I have to make a call."</p><p>A huff from the other end, then: "She knows, I called her. Kaia and I were on a <em>small </em>vamp hunt in the local area, and we decided to drop in for a visit. Obviously, Jack was the only one here, so, we met, and—"</p><p>Dean heard giggling, and then Jack's yelp in surprise, and more snorts of glee.</p><p>"—anyway, I gotta go Old Man, Kaia's got a handful of—" the call cut off the rest of Claire's squeal, and Dean growled in frustration.</p><p>"<em>son of a bitch. </em>Pot brownies, batter fights—maybe <em>Jack</em> couldn't have burned down the bunker all on his own, but with those two?" he snorted. "Your daughter's a handful, Cas."</p><p>Cas smiled fondly. "Well. She isn't quite technically my daughter, but I understand what you mean. She reminds me of someone I know, actually…"</p><p>Sam smirked, amused, and Dean spluttered at Cas's self-satisfied expression. "I don't—I don't act like, like—<em>Claire—"</em></p><p>"Dean. It was a compliment, I assure you." Cas sat back contentedly. "Claire is a strong, stubborn, selfless young woman, and considering the level of damage I have inflicted on her views regarding fatherly-figures… her stability found through courage, and determination… it is proof of your effect on people. You are her role model Dean. And—many others' as well, for that matter. Never doubt for an instant that you are unworthy of the title."</p><p>Speechless in the silence that followed, Dean drove Baby through the static rain that must have started a few minutes ago, because it was downright pouring.</p><p>He kept forgetting Cas thought so highly of him.</p><p>"Well, shucks Cas. No one gives compliments like that anymore, people are gonna think you haven't spent the last decade hanging out with us humans," Dean forced out jokingly, the effect of Cas's words felt almost.. Numbing. What was he meant to do with a compliment like that?</p><p>Insults, he could deal with. Death threats? Even better. But compliments… honest to god compliments, not just cheap pick up lines? That was something new.</p><p>Not necessarily unpleasant. But… damn confusing. Only Cas could speak his mind like that, so blatantly honest, without a hint of a blush or a single second of embarrassed hesitation.</p><p>Cas stared serenely out the window. "Well… I think humans <em>should </em> compliment one another more honestly, and far more often. Someday, I think I should like to walk the earth and pass out compliments, like—like those nice salesman who give free samples of their wares. Dean, you remember—"</p><p>"the day we walked through town hunting for those cursed rocks? Yeah I remember, buddy." Dean gave Sam a look. "You really missed out man, it was like free-food-sample day or something."</p><p>Sam grimaced in response, but Dean grinned at the memory. "<em>Cas's Compliments</em>. Has a nice ring to it, actually." Dean imagined the trenchcoated angel strolling around neighborhoods giving out bluntly honest compliments to toddlers and old men and goth teenagers.</p><p>He glanced at the rear-view mirror, to see Cas peering interestedly out the window.</p><p>Dean chuckled under his breath. "You're really somethin', you know that, Cas?"</p><p>The angel turned to face forward, a small affectionate smile lifting one corner of his mouth. "As I said. Humans need to work on their complimenting skills."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Never Book a Room at the Casa Valentine Inn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(this Inn is actually a real place ;)</p><p>Los Angeles California. </p><p>Just my luck that the name sounds so perfect.</p><p>Anyway, I hope you all are doing okay today. I loved writing this chapter, so I hope you love reading it :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean arrived at the Casa Valentine Inn in a happier mood than he could have thought possible. While Sam paid for their room, Cas helped him bring the duffle bags up the white-rung stairs, through a black door labeled with a fancy gold '7,' and into what was perhaps the girliest motel room he'd ever seen. And that was saying a lot, considering just how many motels he'd visited in his lifetime.</p><p>Several of the walls were a coral-salmon pink, and the rest were formed from pure white shiplap boards. He looked up, and wondered what kind of a nutjob decided to paint a ceiling pitch black. There was a giant four-paneled, gold-framed mirror taking up an entire wall, and the two beds displayed garish bedspreads patterned in brown and pink geometric shapes. It had the look and feel of the bedroom of a preppy teenage girl who couldn't decide between goth, modern, or <em>princess pink. </em></p><p>"wow." Sam had walked in, and apparently, experienced the same thoughts as Dean had.</p><p>"Right?" Dean gestured at the bathroom, where fluffy pink towels wrapped in satin bows awaited beside the tiniest sink he'd ever seen. But Sam was more intrigued at the 'table.' If you could call it that. A tiny square thing, made from fake chestnut wood, jammed in one corner of the room.</p><p>Dean snorted when he saw it. "Good luck fitting your legs under <em>that </em>thing." Sam just rolled his eyes, and placed his laptop satchel on the bed. "I'll go and get us some dinner."</p><p>Dean raised a finger, but didn't finish his sentence before Sam interrupted with a huff. "Yes, I'll get you some pie."</p><p>"You better."</p><p>"dude, when have I <em>ever </em>forgotten the pie?" he walked out of the room, ducking slightly beneath the low-hanging doorframe with a muttered complaint: something about 'short people.' Dean grinned.</p><p>Cas however, couldn't seem to find a single thing wrong with the room. He wandered about curiously, peering into closets and drawers, taking out a miniature bible and flipping vaguely through the pages.</p><p>"Dean?"</p><p>Dean turned around, to where the angel was frowning at the miniscule Bible, which was kind a funny scenario, considering.</p><p> "Heh. Bet the manager never figured an actual angel would be standing in his motel room reading—man, could they have <em>made </em>that Bible tinier?" He walked over to inspect it.</p><p>"Dean, what does this mean? Who is this… 'she'?"</p><p>Peering at the top right corner of the page, Dean could make a tiny scrawled message that read: "that's what she said" which was underlined, and connected to a sentence: “Blow on my garden, that its fragrance may spread abroad. Let my lover come into his garden and taste its choice fruits.”</p><p>Dean bit his lip, trying to hold back his laughter. Helplessly, it burst out in a snort, and he gripped Cas's shoulder to keep himself upright. Cas just looked all the more distraught at Dean's reaction, and he frowned as Dean doubled over in stomach-cramping laughter.</p><p>"Dean, what is so funny?"</p><p>"oh—oh man—" Dean wiped a tear sliding down his cheek, and he took a deep breath, straightening to relieve the cramps. He patted Cas fondly on the shoulder, still panting. "It means a 12 year old boy was here, Cas. That's what that means."</p><p>Cas frowned back down at the page as Dean stumbled over the bed and began untying his laces.</p><p>"I still don't understand the reference. This is the song of Solomon. Who is this woman and <em>what </em>did she say? And how does the boy know this?"</p><p>Dean shook his head, amusement filling his chest with a warm lightness, as if he couldn't remember what it was he had been worrying about only a moment before. "Oh, man—" Dean breathed shakily, still recovering. He couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed that hard.</p><p>Years.</p><p>Had it really been years? He didn't know anymore. The thought quelled his glee only slightly, but most of the lightness remained.</p><p>Cas put the bible back in the drawer, looking confused and defeated, but Dean thought he could see a faint smile, as if Dean's laughter had rubbed off on him.</p><p>He laid backwards on the bed, and flipped on the TV, scrolling through the channels. Nothing good. He was about it turn it off when Cas stopped him with a gesture. It was a National Geographic documentary on native Hawaiian yellow-faced bees. Dean raised an eyebrow. "Really Cas. Honeybees again?"</p><p>"No, Dean—" Cas perched himself carefully on the end of the bed, right near Dean's feet, staring happily up at the screen. "These are not normal honeybees, they're a special species, the only type of bee to have naturally colonized in Hawaii. Regular honeybees had to be brought into the Island by beekeepers in 1857, but"…..</p><p>"Dude if you already know everything about 'em, then why are we watching this?" Dean chuckled.</p><p>"Well…. You said there was nothing of interest currently airing, Dean. And besides. There is always so much more to learn about the insect population. They still amaze me,"….</p><p>Cas droned on about his excessive, possibly unhealthy obsession with Hawaii's collective range of insects, and Dean smiled fondly. He'd never seen the angel look so excited. And about the simplest thing, a freaking honeybee, for God's sake.</p><p>
  <em>(I don't deserve him)</em>
</p><p>He flinched. Every moment. Every damn moment, poisoned by his own thoughts. Dean felt his contentment seep away, and tried to blot out the stain before it spread. Tried to hold back the onslaught of inescapable truths. Cas was happy right now. He couldn't ruin that. Not again.</p><p>So he focused on the angel's contented smile, soft and peaceful. He focused on the voice spilling out facts that he honestly couldn't care less about. Not the narrators voice.</p><p>His favorite voice.</p><p>-------------------------------------</p><p>Sam arrived 20 minutes later with cheap burgers and (thank god) a slice of apple pie. Dean grabbed the food eagerly, and Sam grimaced at the TV. "Honeybees? Really?"</p><p>Cas opened his mouth to correct him, but Dean shook his head, laughing, mouth full of food. "Dude, don't get him started."</p><p>Sam grabbed a seat at the tiny table, which Dean was astonished to see actually fit over his legs, and dug into a salad that looked more like a container full of lettuce than an actual meal.</p><p>Dean rolled his eyes, and handed Cas a burger. The angel looked at him skeptically. "Dean, you know I don't eat."</p><p>"I know, dude. But you've only ever tried a PB&amp;J as an angel, and you seemed to like raw meat—"</p><p>"That was due purely to the effects of Famine—"</p><p>"I <em>know, </em>but just try it, okay? You might like it." Dean flashed a crooked grin.</p><p>Hesitating only for a moment, Cas bit into the burger and chewed thoughtfully.</p><p>Dean raised an eyebrow. "So?"</p><p>"It's…. better than the sandwich," Cas admitted.</p><p>"ah, ha! See, toldja."</p><p>Dean was gratified to notice that Cas managed to take several more bites before wrapping it up with a polite, "still tastes highly molecular."</p><p>Sam looked up from his "salad," watching the two of them with an amused expression. "So, Cas how long do you think you can stay?"</p><p>The room chilled slightly, but Dean had been wondering the same thing. Cas sighed, and threw Dean's wrappers in the nearest trash can. "I should go soon. Perhaps I will be able to fit in the meeting while you two sleep. I may very well be able to visit again tomorrow morning. If that is alright."</p><p>"Yeah, of course, Cas," Sam nodded, then smiled. "It's good to have you here."</p><p>Dean almost said nothing, drowned in contented relief. Cas would be here again tomorrow. But he caught himself before the moment passed, hurrying to come up with a suitable response.</p><p> "Yeah man. Thanks for… being here."</p><p>The rest of the evening was relaxed. Cas was able to finish the nature program before he left, and to Sam's surprise, Dean spent the next hour or so watching the following program, which was apparently on America's most dangerous animals.</p><p>It was actually pretty interesting, although he'd rather be attacked by a swarm of paper wasps than admit it out loud.</p><p>Sam stayed up late, as usual, his laptop screen glowing a bright blue in the dark motel room as Dean tried to get some shut-eye.</p><p>The thoughts built around him, but this time Dean blocked them out. This time, he slept.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Stage is Set</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>You know something is wrong when it feels too easy.</p><p>Sam remembered the first time Dean had ever told him that. Their first hunt together, with dad of course. A vamp job, so seemingly simple. Three teenage girls murdered in the course of a week, drained of their blood and left to rot in the damn parking lot, vamp bites on each of their necks. It had been too obvious, too easy to find, and Dean had known it. Sam of course, on his first hunt, had assumed that the simplicity of the job was common.</p><p>Turned out Dean had been right, even though Sam had hated to admit it. And looking back at his younger, much less experienced self, Sam realized now just how right Dean had been.</p><p>The job had lasted them 2 weeks in total, eventually ending up on the receiving end of undercover vampire slave-owners. Apparently, they bred weak vampires into violence, encouraged them to make obvious kills, then stole the unholy drink from their student's victims, leaving only a small portion as a reward for the desperately inexperienced newly bred.</p><p>The conspicuous attacks would of course attract hunters, but while the experienced vamps knew this, and were careful to hide themselves after the killing spree, they refrained from gracing the newborn vamps with the same knowledge. Hunters came. Hunters found. Hunters killed. And with everything matching up, an appropriate number of bloodthirsty vamp heads on a stick, and no other clue as to the existence of other vamps in the area… the hunters would leave. And the senior Dracula's would continue on with their pack's traditions, moving secretly throughout largely populated cities to avoid major fuss about missing persons. The higher the crime rate of the city, the better.</p><p>Even their father had never managed to find one of the home nests. Course they'd 'questioned' a few of the newly-breds, but it quickly became obvious that the senior-vamps kept that piece of information extremely private.</p><p>Sam's shoulders stiffened a bit at the memory. His dad had been… particularly frustrated during that job, and he took it out in petty arguments with Sam. Dean, the big brother as always, usually attempted to protect Sam from John's wrath, most often ending up on the receiving end of their father's fists. It wasn't the first time Dean had taken the fall for his little brother, and it hadn't been the last, not by a long shot.</p><p>
  <em>Regret. Guilt. Anger.</em>
</p><p>The feelings surged in waves of aching spasms, and Sam sat back in his chair and closed his laptop shut with a snap.</p><p>Motels and cheap fast food. Sleepless nights, and constant violence. That wasn't the life he had promised himself, it was the life he had, in fact, sworn he would never become a part of. But here he was, and here was Dean… singing in the shower, apparently. Sam rolled his eyes.</p><p>He wondered sometimes how Dean could find such child-like joy in the little things, like water pressure and cherry pie. Although neither of them had ever had a childhood, Sam sometimes found that Dean could be more childlike than most adults he'd met. In a good way, of course. Alive, and vibrant with life. Appreciative of the small joys, easily excited.</p><p>Dean deserved happiness. After everything he had done for his family, for his friends, hell, for the WORLD.</p><p>And although he knew Dean could never truly be content settling down with a wife and kids, living the 'apple pie life,' as he called it, Sam wished that his older brother could find someone, a hunter, who understood the life, someone he could be happy with.</p><p>*<em>whooshflap*</em></p><p>"Oh. Sam. Where is Dean?"</p><p>Sam rolled his eyes, sighed, and swiveled in his chair to face the trenchcoated angel.</p><p>"Cas, <em>good morning to you too</em>. I don't think Dean can talk to you right now."</p><p>Cas was standing at attention as always, hands dangling by his sides, and head tilted in that squinty-eyed expression of Cas-like confusion.</p><p>"Why not? Dean isn't hurt, is he?"</p><p>Sam repressed a smile, biting his lip. He knew Cas and Dean shared a 'profound bond' or whatever, but sometimes it seemed as if Sam didn't even exist. That was alright with him, honestly. He was glad Dean had a—</p><p>
  <em>A friend? </em>
</p><p>The words flashed through Sam's mind, but they were not a statement. It had been a question for a <em>long</em> time, Sam knew. God, he was sick of watching their staring contests. He was even more sick of watching Dean pace around the inside of his precious closet.</p><p>But maybe today was the day. <em>His plan. </em></p><p>Cas seemed to be getting more and more distressed as Sam's silence continued. The hunter was squinting at him curiously, as if trying to decipher Cas's sentence. But it had been perfectly clear, he thought? Sometimes, the human language seemed to possess an unmanageable number of 'slang' terms and completely incomprehensible references. Dean himself seemed to hold an entire archive of strange words and phases within his being. It was frustrating, being unable to understand his—</p><p>….<em>"all out of love, I'm so lost withOUT you, "</em></p><p>Cas cocked his head, and turned towards the bathroom door, from which he could now distinctly hear Dean's rough, but obviously content, voice. It surprised him, he had never heard Dean sing in the shower before.</p><p>Without hesitation, Cas stepped quickly in the direction of the bathroom door, and reached for the warm door handle. The angel could sense a movement behind him, and a weak <em>almost </em>word of objection from Sam, but the hunter sank back down and seemed to abandon his half-sentence with… gleefulness?</p><p>No time to understand. Cas stepped inside the humid bathroom without a word, and closed the door behind him with a click.</p><p>Sam listened intently for a moment, then rolled forward in his chair until he was able to press his ear to the damp bathroom door… an eager smile spread. The matchmaker was in. The stage was set. Maybe it seemed too easy, but Sam didn't care. He was sick of waiting for them to make the first move.</p><p>It was high time to make his ship canon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Good Intentions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bathroom walls were slick with condensation, the air humid, Dean's occasional humming filling in the spaces for the song lyrics he couldn't remember. Cas almost left the bathroom. He hadn't realized Dean had been taking a shower. In his experience, humans seemed to become rather self-conscious about their naked forms when around others. It wasn't something Castiel understood very well, since he himself even as a <em>young </em>angel, had been watching humans in their naked forms for a millennia, but he had come to respect humanity's odd need for privacy.</p><p>Ignoring Sam's obvious shuffling around behind the closed door, Cas took a quick look at the fogged shower pane before turning around. Dean's body was nothing but a blur, so Cas knew the hunter couldn't be too embarrassed if he announced his presence.</p><p>"Hello Dean."</p><p>The reaction was instantaneous, though not unexpected. Dean must have dropped the shampoo bottle on his foot. At least Cas assumed, because he was hearing an unnecessary amount of cussing following a loud thump.</p><p>Cas stood by the door, back turned to the shower as a show of respect, and refraining from coming any closer even though it was his desire to speak face to face. He always enjoyed his talks with Dean, even over the phone, but speaking to each other only inches apart, his eyes boring into Dean's uncommonly bright soul, was most preferable.</p><p>"DAMMIT Cas," Dean growled, shutting the water off with a quick twist of the knob. Now the only thing Cas could hear was Dean's unusually quick breathing, and of course, Sam's muffled movements behind the door.</p><p>"I apologize, Dean, it was not my intention to upset you."</p><p>Dean sighed, his panting breaths slowing to a normal pace. Cas could sense that the hunter was not quite angry, just shaken and exasperated. Since Dean seemed to be over his shock for the most part, Cas turned to face the shape in the glass stall.</p><p>"Dude. Have you not learned how to knock yet? I thought we covered that already," the hunter shook his hand above the shower door, as if gesturing for something. Understanding, Cas stepped forward to pick up the damp towel on the mat and handed it to Dean, his callused fingers brushing Dean's wet ones, just for a moment.</p><p>The angel cocked his head to one side. He remembered that day. He had mistakenly walked in on Dean shirtless, halfway through the process of getting dressed. Apparently, Dean had not felt the same way, and while Sam was tucked away in the bunker's library reading up on lore, Dean had spent the day teaching Cas the ways and habits of human life: including knocking one's fist on doors when you wished to enter. This rule was apparently, not to be forgotten, particularly if he was going to start living in the bunker. Cas remembered that day fondly. It was one of his good memories, and he had so few of those. But the ones he did have, no doubt revolved around Dean.</p><p>"Dean, I remember how to knock. Angels do not easily forget," he stated earnestly.</p><p>Dean stepped out of the shower, towel wrapped around his waist. "Oh really? Then how come you almost killed me with a damn shampoo bottle?"</p><p>Cas squinted. There it was again, these strange human innuendos. What was he meant to understand by this statement? Dean had not even come close to dying, if he had, Cas would have felt it. And besides, Cas had not caused the bottle to drop.</p><p>Amused, Dean rolled his eyes and grabbed another towel, and began rubbing his hair dry. "It's okay, man. You know what, don't worry about it. Glad you're here. Uh, what was it you wanted to say?"</p><p>"I—" Cas heard more shuffling behind the door, and gave the door handle a small glare. Sam Winchester may be a great hunter, but he was certainly lacking skills in subtlety.</p><p>Dean frowned at the door, then looked back at Cas, his damp hair sticking up in dozens of different directions. Cas suppressed an amused smile at the hunter's appearance, then leaned in and said gravely, "I believe we have a rat in our grapevine." Was it the correct phrase? He didn't know.</p><p>Dean was biting his bottom lip, obviously holding in laughter, and Cas sighed. "I give up. I mean to say that I believe your brother may wish to participate in this conversation." Dean laughed and made a motion as if to shuffle Cas aside. The bathroom was rather tiny, and Cas could feel Dean's intense warmth seeping off of his skin as the hunter squeezed past him and towards the door. He turned the knob, but Sam wasn't there.</p><p>"Cas, what are you talking about man?"</p><p>Dean stepped out further into the main room, chills cascading over his skin in separation from the overly humid steam-room he had created. The angel followed, confused. "Cas…. Where's Sam? Did you see him when you arrived here?"</p><p>Cas shook his head slowly, "he was here Dean. I greeted him briefly, then I came to talk to you. He was there, by the desk."</p><p>Something blue caught the corner of Cas's vision, a dripping sigil, still freshly sprayed on the inside of the motel door across the room. Then he noticed the larger sigil beneath his feet, encircling both himself and Dean.</p><p>Sam stepped out from between the wall and the widely opened bathroom door, a perfect nook hidden in shadows. His smile was self-satisfied and tremendously mischievous.</p><p>"Now that I've got your attention, we're going to talk about your feelings for each other."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Team Lingering Daddy Issues</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Well Dean hadn't expected the day to go this way. It had actually started out pretty great. The diner they visited for breakfast had his favorite cherry almond pie, and Sammy had been in a good mood for once. The motel's water pressure was awesome, despite the pink shower-head, and he had planned on taking a long shower before tramping out to investigate the new job. Vamps. An easy one, at long last.</p><p>And of course, Cas had called a couple hours before, updating Dean on his progress with heaven's angels. Things were apparently going well, and he had promised Dean a visit to talk in person.</p><p>The idea of seeing Cas again (and so soon) gave Dean more happiness than he cared to admit. Screw it, the dorky little dude made him laugh, and he was after all, his best—</p><p>
  <em>Friend? </em>
</p><p>The constant question mark, forever plaguing his thoughts. Most of the time, dean had chosen to ignore it, but this morning, blame it on curiosity or simple excitement, Dean allowed himself to consider the idea. The idea of Cas being something else entirely.</p><p>If he was honest with himself, Dean had known he was… not quite straight. For a long time. But after John had caught his son with… well, his father's reaction had been more than enough to stifle any growing curiosity. Until Cas.</p><p>John was long gone, and Dean knew he had to eventually face facts and own up to his own slogan. It was team "Free Will," after all, not Team 'Lingering Daddy Issues.' Of course, between John, Lucifer and the literal God, Dean supposed the second slogan applied pretty accurately as well.</p><p>So yeah, he considered it. And then he considered it too much. Maybe a little more than he should have. Singing the lyrics of one of his favorite songs, he allowed himself to imagine Cas's face in his mind, see the dark slanting blue irises and the raven sex-hair. He could smell the rainstorm scent of the trench coat, that damn trench coat… his hands clenched as he remembered how it felt to stand so close to the angel, sharing breaths, waiting to see who would break the connection first. It was electric, paralyzing, staring into the eyes of Cas, an actual 'angel of the lord,' as he had said so long ago.</p><p>Sam had always joked about Cas's staring contests with Dean, how the angel never did it with anyone else, how Dean actually seemed to enjoy it. No doubt about it, Dean had even initiated the stares several times, just to feel it again: the bond. Time seemed to stalemate every time they touched glances with one another, and Dean craved it, but the lingering damage inflicted by his father's judgement thrust a shock of fear and self-hatred into every moment of connection.</p><p>
  <em>Corruptive. </em>
</p><p>The lyrics to the song died off, he couldn't remember the next words. Desperate to stifle the thoughts, Dean hummed the melody in an attempt to forget that one word, to stay happy if only for a moment longer, dreading the inevitable onslaught of</p><p>
  <em>Dean Winchester… the only man alive who could be capable of corrupting an angel of the lord. </em>
</p><p>The thought broke to the surface of dean's subconscious, and he slammed it back down along with everything else, but the thoughts resounded back in full force.</p><p>
  <em>I am not my dad. I am not my dad. I AM my dad. I destroy every relationship I touch. Everyone I love dies. I corrupt. I can't ever have someone so beautiful like that I am too broken too damaged too dangerous I'm dangerous even to an angel I could kill him like that time I almost stabbed him HA who am I kidding I've almost killed him multiple times he doesn't deserve that he deserves someone better someone who won't try to kill him</em>
</p><p>The thoughts stuck as quickly as they came, reverberating around the hallowed out canyon of Dean's mind, repeating again and again, like a broken record stuck on loop.</p><p>Then those two words.</p><p>"hello Dean."</p><p>How many times had the angel saved his life, and how many times had the angel saved him from his own thoughts, simply by granting him reprieve from his own torturous self-hatred? Dean couldn't count.</p><p>It scared him to admit that those two words had often been the only barrier between himself and death. Death was a nail, incessantly pounding its desirable promises of rest into Dean's thoughts, poisoning every happy moment. Was he happy? Or would he be happier dead? Was it all worth it, or should he just get it over with, since he was bound to die anyway?</p><p>And then the longing, the desire, to hear those two words just one more time.. One more time, and then he would finally do it, one more time, and he could die in peace, one more time, again and again, those two words pulled his bleeding body from the nail, and told him to get up, to keep fighting. <em>Always keep fighting. </em></p><p>Once again, those two words had shocked him out of his thoughts, pushed him into reality, into life. He wasn't alone, and his thoughts no longer echoed.</p><p>He joked about needing to teach Cas the basics of privacy, but he knew the truth. How many hours would Dean have spent sobbing in his room, in his car, in the shower, if Cas had not broken through the door. How many times would Dean have killed himself by now, if Cas had not been the one lingering hope in the back of his mind. Cas was the reason Dean was still alive, in more ways than one. <em>Screw privacy, </em>dean thought. For some reason, Cas couldn't stand to leave him alone, and dammit, Dean was grateful.</p><p>At this moment, however, trapped in a sigil contrived by his younger brother in hopes of exposing their supposed <em>feelings </em>for each other, all the while wearing nothing but a pink fluffy bath towel, Cas's presence was more humiliating than anything else.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. And So the Ship Sunk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean frowned at his brother. "Sam. Come on, man, what the hell is this."</p><p>"No, Dean. NO. What the <em>HELL</em> is <em>THIS</em>." Sam gestured at the both of them with a frenzied, almost hysterical, frustration. "THIS. This, this—EYE-sex, and the BICKERING and the—the—constant 'oh I just HAVE to stand two inches from his face' thing and—" he retreated into silent huffs and exasperated miming motions.</p><p>Dean stared. He had never seen Sam act this dramatic over something. I mean sure, the guy was a drama queen, but this… It was almost enough to distract him from what Sam was saying—in between the unintelligible huffs and jumbled complaints.</p><p>"—but finally, FINALLY—" Sam jabbed a satisfied finger at the both of them, and Dean was amused to see Cas looking just as confused as he was. "—you're here, and he's here, and I'm here, all in the same damn place and you are going to TALK."</p><p>Sam took a breath, and sat down in his rolling desk chair, staring pointedly.</p><p>Dean tried to laugh, but it came out weaker than he'd hoped. Honestly, he hadn't been able to decipher half of what his brother had said, but even still: he'd gotten the gist.</p><p>And if his assumed gist was correct, he had to get out of here fast, because dammit, he was not ready to have this conversation. Not like this.</p><p>So he put up a wall of smug humor, hid his shock, and tucked his emotions back in their box. They couldn't be real anyway.</p><p>"Sam, man, I don't know what's gotten into you, okay, but I'm human: this trap can't hold me." he took a step over the glowing edge as if to prove his point, but was immediately thrown backwards, smashing into Cas's chest. The angel helped him up, and Dean blushed, remembering he was still wearing a single bath towel wrapped around his waist. <em>Son of a bitch.</em> Lucky he'd wrapped it tightly.</p><p>Sam smirked. "Dean, come on. I had help. I'm not the only one who's utterly sick of your guys' side-stepping nonsense."</p><p>Dean was starting to get pissed. He hated being backed into a corner, especially a corner that dealt with… <em>emotions. </em>Sam knew that. Or he should. What the hell was his brother trying to do, humiliate him?</p><p>He stared angrily at Sam, shocked to the core.</p><p>"Well?" Sam looked steadily at the trenchcoated angel and the half-naked hunter. "who wants to talk first? Nobody? Awesome." he sat up straighter in his chair. "Because I'd like to go first. You guys have to stop this—this—<em>pretending, </em>and get it together and figure out whatever CRAP it is that's standing in your way, because I—and every other living thing, human or otherwise, is getting tired of your bullshit."</p><p>"I don't like to drag other people's feelings out into the open like this—"</p><p>Dean scoffed disbelievingly.</p><p>"—but Dean, man, you have to do something about it, because your 'staring contests"— Sam made air quotations— "are seriously scarring me for life. And that's saying a lot, considering. And Cas, look, I know—"</p><p>"STOP."</p><p>Dean looked over to Cas, and was shaken to see how furious the angel looked. His blue eyes were squinted beneath glaring brows, head tilted downward</p><p>
  <em>(In that way he loved) </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(where had that thought come from?)</em>
</p><p>And fists clenched, as if to keep himself from reaching for a blade.</p><p>Dean was surprised to feel… hurt. A minute before he had been furious with Sam, dreading every word, and ready to deny everything, if it meant keeping things the way they were.</p><p>But now… maybe some small part of him, stronger than the rest, had always wanted Cas to speak up about his feelings. Maybe he was curious, and wishing, to know that Cas felt..</p><p>
  <em>(the same as he did)</em>
</p><p>The same as he did? Did he feel that way towards Cas? Did he… consider him as more than a friend? Was he in love or was he just desperate for affection, and Cas was his best friend, and did he actually get crushes on men or had he just been so damaged that any kind of attention ever given to him had been taken out of context and romanticized? Would he ever truly feel that way towards Cas, or was he just grateful to have a friend who was still <em>alive </em>that he was subconsciously exaggerating every nuance in the angel's behavior, every touch, every longing glance…</p><p>
  <em>(there you go again)</em>
</p><p>But maybe it wasn't important. If Cas didn't feel the same, there was no point in pursuing the matter any longer. And considering the angel's reaction to Sam's 'matchmaking attempt,' he felt safe in assuming that his best friend considered their relationship to be… just that. <em>Friends. </em></p><p>Sam frowned at Cas, obviously as surprised as Dean.</p><p>Cas suddenly blinked, then closed his eyes and tilted his head to one side, as if listening. He straightened, and ignoring Dean's persistent staring, said harshly, "I have to leave, Sam. Heaven needs me, Hannah needs me, and I cannot waste time on this matter any longer."</p><p>Dean couldn't help but notice the angel's stubborn reluctance to even spare him a glance. The motel room was too silent, almost seeming to fade away into disappointed static, as if the walls had been filled with energy just moments before, and then… gone.</p><p>"Cas." Dean was almost ashamed to hear his own croaky voice. Still, the angel refused to look at him, eyes turned towards the younger brother in the chair.</p><p>"Let me out. This is important, Sam!" Cas was almost shouting, and when Cas shouted, it was bound to be serious.</p><p>Grudgingly, Sam lifted himself from his chair and set fire to the sigil's ring, murmuring whispers under his breath. The mark flared, then sizzled into itself, leaving a charred scorch mark on the carpet.</p><p>Cas stepped gracefully over the burn-mark, and turned once more to Sam. "I will be in contact."</p><p>Then, without looking back, he stepped towards the motel door with stiff strides.</p><p>"Don't you leave this room, Cas. Not again. You just got here." Dean felt a burning sting in the corners of his eyes, and his throat swelled.</p><p>"DAMMIT, Cas, you KNOW they're a bunch of dicks but you still run off to help them like the coward you are!" he was yelling, but it didn't feel like it. It felt as if he were in a dream, shouting until his voice grew hoarse, with no one to hear him, and no sound escaping his mouth, and no matter how much he tried, he could only emit silent whispers.</p><p>"They're just USING you Cas, come on, man, you're not that blind are you? What, do you think Hannah appreciates you or something? She's just another a-hole, thinking she's on a holy mission, and she's got you wrapped around her damn finger—"</p><p>
  <em>(desperate terrified don't leave me again not again I need you man, I need you, I haven't seen you in so long and I need you, why can't you see that DAMN you friggin angels, flying dicks all of them—)</em>
</p><p>Still the angel did not turn to face him. "I will apologize to the motel owner for the both of you. Sam, I would recommend you leave him a substantial tip for the property damages. I believe that is considered polite in <em>human </em>societies."</p><p>Dean flared at the clipped blank tone of Cas's words.</p><p>Turning the door handle, Cas paused, and without glancing back: "Dean. I am sorry."</p><p>The black door closed with a sharp click, and dean stared after it, as if in a reverie. He wished he could feel angry, pissed off, like he usually did. Then maybe he could move on, get up, get dressed, and get on with the day. Anger was destructive, but at least it felt better than this…. nothingness.</p><p>He felt as if he could stand there all day, towel wrapped around his waist, alone in the motel room, and just wallow in the emptiness, the <em>lack of. </em>The seconds ticked by, and Sam quietly got up to retreat to his laptop. But Dean couldn't move.</p><p>Thoughts paraded around his body, circling back and around in an endless spiral of repeating echoes that he couldn't quite make out, cascading through him, and though he felt nothing, it hurt just the same. It was worse than any anger.</p><p>Sam was looking at him funny, so Dean retreated to the still steamy bathroom to put on his suit. Hunting was the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. But at least it might succeed in taking his mind off of a certain angel.</p><p>And if that didn't work… whiskey was always an efficient alternative.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. I Don't Care if Heaven Won't Take Me Back</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cas paused outside Hannah's blinding white door at the foremost regions of heaven. Everywhere he looked, he could see only pure whiteness—almost sterile. And yet, he felt as if he were still in that cramped motel room, musty curtains and a steamy bathroom, still emitting that flowery-clean shampoo scent…</p><p>Frowning, Cas pinched the front of his trenchcoat, and sniffed it. Still a bit damp from when Dean had fallen backwards into him, and apparently the source of the strong flowery scent.</p><p>Cas knew his senses were overly susceptible, that the shampoo certainly wasn't that pungent to any human nose, and that unless he washed his trenchcoat, the scent would likely linger with him for quite a lot longer than was considered natural.</p><p>He shoved the thoughts away, and rapped a knuckle against Hannah's door, exactly as Dean had taught him just a week ago.</p><p>A bewildered dark haired angel in cuffed jeans opened the door, and squinted her sky eyes at Castiel. "What were you doing, just now?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"I sensed your approach towards my door, but you did not come in. You… tapped your fist repeatedly, instead, and I—never mind. It is of little importance."</p><p>She widened the door, and gestured for Castiel to enter inside the small office. Unlike most of Heaven's rooms, Hannah had decided to add a bit of color into the blinding white. A wall, on which she usually displayed virtual scenes of solar systems, clouds, nature or sometimes gradients composed of pleasing color combinations: such as today's palette of royal blue, magenta and violet shades. Castiel eyed the wall in interest. He wondered what Dean's favorite color was, and how it was that he had never asked him before.</p><p>Hannah, was sitting with exceptional posture in front of him, waiting politely for Cas to settle himself into the other chair.</p><p>Straight-backed. And terribly uncomfortable.</p><p>It was strange, but undeniable, that over the years on Earth, Cas had become accustomed to humans' enhanced designs built specifically for comfort and relaxation. The impala, particularly, had some of the best cushioning he had ever experienced. He knew why Dean was so fond of the vehicle. He also knew that it wasn't simply due to the exceptional seating, or sleek appearance.</p><p>Memories were of great importance to humans, and although it was not a concept he had initially understood, Dean's reminiscing, along with the occasional journal entry—of which he had sneaked private glances—had helped him to overcome this confusion.</p><p>Cas wondered how many things he would not understand, how many valuable elements of life he would be ignorant of… if it were not for Dean.</p><p>Hannah regarded him patiently, as if sensing the tumultuous thoughts whirling in Castiel's mind. Then she spoke, "Castiel, I will be blunt with you."</p><p>He almost laughed. He couldn't imagine Hannah ever being anything but bluntly honest. It was her most prominent trait. That, and an acute, but slightly antiquated sense of justice. Then again, who was he to judge? Before Dean, Cas had been just like her. Stoic, logical, 'a big picture kinda-guy,' as Dean would call it.</p><p>But outwardly, Castiel nodded. He would need to put thoughts of Dean aside for now, in order to achieve even the minimum amount of concentration required for any polite conversation.</p><p>Hannah folded her hands on the desktop in front of her, and considered her next words. "The angels—and myself—fear that you are… abandoning your duty as one of Heaven's soldiers."</p><p>She regarded him carefully, scrutinizing his neutral expression, then continued. "It seems you neglected several missions, assigned to you by your superiors, thus forcing the tasks onto lower-level seraphs. Are you aware of this?"</p><p>Castiel nodded, ashamed. He had spent too much time assisting the Winchesters in their own perils, and hated to admit that many of his own heavenly duties had been forgotten as a result. Of course, he didn't regret it… but Hannah had a point.</p><p>"Castiel…we feel you are becoming too close to the humans in your care. Particularly, a certain Dean Winchester. The other angels are becoming… resentful. They are beginning to wonder if humanity, and its many tantalizing peculiarities, is perhaps superior to heaven's duties."</p><p>She peered at him closely.</p><p>"But you know that is not true, don't you, Castiel? You know that Heaven's orders, that our eons-old commitments, assigned to us by archangels nearly as old as God himself… these jobs are what truly matter. We must keep Heaven's traditions, follow our ingrained instincts to do the right thing, to make the moral choices, even if it is difficult. Even, perhaps, if it seems wrong."</p><p>Castiel stared at the multicolored wall. Questioning. Wondering.</p><p>Hannah was wrong. His instincts did not point to heaven and they never had. He knew whose side he faced towards, and he knew which side he would betray, again and again and again, if only to save one human.</p><p>Dean Winchester is saved. Those were the first words he had spoken regarding the Righteous man. And he knew it was likely they would be the last words he ever said, the last thing he ever did.</p><p>He had draped himself in the flag of heaven far too often. He knew who he would ultimately choose, because when it came down to it, when the world was ending, and all in creation was doomed: his instinct had lead him back to Dean Winchester each and every time.</p><p>Maybe it was all about saving one human after all. Maybe it was selfish to risk the entire world for one man's life, but hadn't Dean done the same for him? For Sam?</p><p>Dean wanted to save everyone, hell, tried to save everyone. But the one person he never believed deserving of redemption, of rescue, of life… was himself.</p><p>Someone had to save Dean Winchester, and if no one else would do it, Castiel was more than ready to accept the honor.</p><p>"No."</p><p>Hannah looked more shocked than Cas had ever seen her. That wasn't saying much, of course, since she remained predominantly expressionless for most of her existence, but this time her facial features morphed to match the human equivalent of moderate surprise.</p><p>Cas stood up slowly out of his chair. "If the humans themselves, the most beautiful creation since the birth of God himself, are not worthy of our attention, of our protection: then what, exactly, is our purpose, Hannah? Are they not worthy of our help, even though that is precisely what we were created to be: their shepherds, their protectors? If our purpose was not to serve man, then I ask you, Hannah: why should Heaven's sole purpose be focused entirely upon an everlasting paradise, created explicitly for humanity's enjoyment? As you said before: heaven is our duty."</p><p>Hannah almost scoffed, mouth opened only slightly.</p><p>"Castiel, if you leave here, I do not expect the other angels to welcome you back. You may never be allowed into Heaven. I suggest you reconsider your decision."</p><p>Cas smiled sadly at her as he turned the handle, pausing as he considered his words.</p><p>"I wish…. you could see, Hannah, what I see in them. In him. Then maybe you would understand, maybe you could realize, that for me: there is no decision."</p><p>"I choose Dean Winchester." even the words brought warmth.</p><p>"And I always have."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Anywhere I Want, Just Not Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cas walked hurriedly away from the sandbox-portal, knowing that despite her offering of peace, Hannah's instincts revolved around justice, and her first decree of business would undoubtedly be the immediate apprehension of the Rogue Seraph, Castiel.</p><p>
  <em>(Outcast. Again)</em>
</p><p>Slowing, Cas realized he truly had no place to go. He could join Jack and the girls at the bunker, but Claire had always been slightly uncomfortable around his presence—understandable, considering their situation, and his appearance.</p><p>She tried not to show it, he knew, but he could sense her awkwardness all the same. It was one human emotion he had become very familiar with, as Dean displayed its symptoms around him quite often. The hunter would make a joke when there was too much silence, or after Castiel had said something particularly affectionate. Sometimes, he would tap his fingers, ceasing only when someone broke the pause, and other times he would fiddle unnecessarily with random objects, simply to busy his hands and give his eyes something to stare at. Something other than Castiel.</p><p>And when they were standing in that sigil together... He remembered the utter humiliation, the anxious dread, seeping off of Dean.</p><p> He had once again become the source of Dean Winchester's unhappiness, just another problem, another job, another stressful situation Dean didn't deserve.</p><p>The arguments they had had—the memories caused Cas to grip his aching chest, almost bending over from the agony of it all.</p><p>The GUILT, it slammed spikes of infectious lies into every moderately happy moment, until he couldn't remember the last time he had been <em>truly, peacefully </em>happy. He didn't even know if he had ever <em>had</em> real happiness before.</p><p>How many messes had he made, and how many times had Dean picked up the pieces, saved face and forgiven him? Dragging himself over to the nearest park bench, the angel wrapped his face in his hands and shook, gasping from the guilt.</p><p>
  <em>(suffocating drowning aching can't breathe can't breathe dean I need you I can't do this alone I can't breathe I need you)</em>
</p><p><em>Breathe</em>.</p><p>Cas massaged his quaking hands over his face.</p><p>It didn't matter if Dean did not care for him in the same way. Dean was the only thing he had, along with Jack and Sam.</p><p>And Castiel, knew then. It didn't matter if he spent his whole life loving Dean Winchester without a hint of reciprocation. For Castiel, there was no one else to love.</p><p>
  <em>(But why. Why must I put myself through this pain)</em>
</p><p>He imagined Dean's retirement life in the future, if they both lived to see it. A wife, maybe. Even, perhaps, a couple kids. A nice job, domestic, that did not require the powers of an angel.</p><p>And maybe they would stay friends. And maybe Dean would become 'busy,' living life as he had always deserved. And maybe Cas would become their useless, lonely, depressed side-kick, that old friend whom you can have beers with on a few Friday nights, and then don’t see again until you get the call, and that friend is lying in a casket, and the Best Friend takes up his role at the alter, and says a few reminiscent words, and a few more lies about the things they always wanted to do together, and all the plans they made that neither of them ever expected to accomplish.</p><p>Only it wouldn't be Cas lying on the table. It would be Dean's closed blank eyes, wrinkled with age, looking back at him. And someone would wrap the hunter tightly in a white cloth, and burn the memories into smoke.</p><p>And there, off to the sidelines, watching the funeral of the great Dean Winchester, there would stand a trenchcoated angel, fallen for the Righteous Man in every way possible.</p><p>There would be no more bedside watches. No more drives in the rain at night, no shoulder to hold onto, no one to protect, no one to argue with. No more odd pop-culture references, and cheap diner food, and movie nights in Deans lounge. No late morning coffee and no more worry. There would be no one left to worry about.</p><p>Eventually, Lawrence locals would begin to gossip about the dark haired man, standing near an honorary gravestone, trenchcoat fluttering faintly in the breeze, dripping puddles in the rain—until those townspeople too, did not exist any more, and the headstone crumbled into dust and the dust was lifted from the ground, and still…</p><p>Still. The fallen angel would stand there waiting. Waiting on Dean Winchester. After betraying heaven so many times, Castiel's lonely fate was inevitable. He had given up everything, even his future. Heaven would close its doors against him, with Dean Winchester's soul bound inside, leaving behind a stronger legacy, a saved world, and one grieving angel.</p><p>Or maybe…</p><p>Castiel took another, stronger breath and pulled himself up from the bench, vanishing immediately and without a single thought of hesitation, the sudden <em>need </em>to see Dean overwhelming every other doubt.</p><p>Maybe that would not be his story.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Friends or Otherwise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was only when Cas arrived at the motel that he remembered Dean and Sam would most likely be out collecting information from the locals. He decided to wait. Although necessary, investigations had never been his strong point. Dean had graciously assured him on several occasions that Cas's only difficulty was his reluctance to lie. The angel now understood that lying was not entirely evil. He had seen the Winchesters save lives on multiple occasions, thanks to this 'sinful' tactic, and had at last come to understand that lies could be used for good. Still, even with this epiphany, lying did not come easily to him, particularly in the performance aspect of it all, and he found it simpler to leave the investigations for the brothers.</p><p>Although he did miss observing Dean's quickness of thought. The speed at which the hunter was able to construct believable excuses and facts, it was truly remarkable.</p><p>After politely questioning the agitated motel owner, he discovered that Sam and Dean, the customers from room 7, were indeed out for the day, and had apparently headed into town, wearing suits, and "talkin' about some weird crap: murders and such." Castiel tipped the owner generously for this information, which he knew was not necessary, but it seemed to brighten the man's countenance considerably, and Castiel retreated to room 7 to wait for the Winchesters' return.</p><p>
  <em>(What will I say? What can I say to Dean? Will he listen will he leave again will he force me out—</em>
</p><p>Luckily, the angel didn't have to wait long. Which was good, because his anxiety was quickly turning to fear and a strong desire to leave. It reminded him of the time Dean took him to that brothel. He remembered Dean sitting across from him, grinning, absurdly amused by the angel's horror.</p><p>The thought calmed him, only slightly, but was forgotten as he saw the same face look up from the handle of the motel door.</p><p>Cas stood up and for a moment they simply stared, dean slightly open-mouthed. Sam mumbled behind him about 'hurrying his ass through the damn door already,' and Dean looked down, walking inside.</p><p>Sam stood awkwardly in the doorframe now, eyebrows raised. "Uh. Hey Cas."</p><p>Cas nodded slightly. "Sam."</p><p>Silence.</p><p>Dean was digging loudly through his duffel bag, spreading out an assortment of pamphlets, newspaper clippings, weapons and half-opened snacks across the mattress.</p><p>Cas turned to look at him. Suddenly, he didn't know what to do with his arms. How did he usually stand? Hanging them stiffly on either side of himself did not feel right…even though he knew that was how he always stood.</p><p>He realized this would normally be the moment in which he greeted Dean with an embrace. Probably not appropriate for the current situation.</p><p>"Dean."</p><p>The hunter ignored him, chest flaring in uneven breaths.</p><p>"Dean, I—"</p><p>Dean threw his duffle bag on the carpet and stalked out of the room, leaving the door wide open, Sam and Cas watching as he slipped into the confines of the Impala, and slammed the door, closing his eyes.</p><p>Sam peered out through the side of the curtains, then back at Cas who was still standing awkwardly behind him.</p><p>"Dude, I think you better go talk to him," Sam nodded out the window. "He's been a pain in my ass ever since you left. Could hardly get a word out of him."</p><p>Castiel would be lying if he said he wasn't at least a little bit satisfied with this information. But the feeling only lasted a moment, as he realized that once again, Dean's life had been disrupted, and once again, it had been Cas's fault entirely.</p><p>In truth, Castiel wanted nothing more, and dreaded nothing more, than to join Dean Winchester in the impala. </p><p>But ignoring Dean was like trying to escape the sun and the moon at once. There is no side of the earth you can run to that can separate you from the thing your world revolves around.</p><p>Castiel felt Dean's agony, and like a magnet being pulled towards a single source, Cas walked out of the room, and rapped heavily on the Impala's windowpane.</p><p>Surprisingly, Dean unlocked the door, and Cas slid uneasily into the 'shotgun' seat, as humans called it.</p><p>The car was filled with static discomfort, and Cas watched the side of Dean's face steadily for a minute before speaking. "How is Jack?" Hopefully an efficient ice-breaker.</p><p>Dean paused, still refusing to meet Cas's gaze; voice roughened and hard. "He's fine. You spoke to him yesterday, remember?"</p><p>Cas could sense the sarcasm. The anger. And underneath it all, he thought he could sense a deep hurt, an ache that matched his own.</p><p>But he only nodded, swallowing. "I apologize… it feels like—" a shaky breath, "much longer."</p><p>This time the silence felt more painful than embarrassing. Neither of them knew what to say, but when Dean spoke next, his words were both curious, and spiteful.</p><p>"So how's Hannah holding up?"</p><p>"Actually, Dean that's what I wanted to talk with you about." cas could see dean grip the steering wheel tighter.</p><p>And he almost said it, right then and there. Almost told dean everything, everything he felt and everything he wanted, and everything he'd given up. But Dean was angry, and that meant he wouldn't listen. It wasn't the right time.</p><p>So he just said simply, "Hannah, and Heaven, won't be needing me anymore."</p><p>For the first time since the start of their conversation, Dean looked mildly alive. "Should I ask what happened, or—"</p><p>"No. Everything is fine, Dean. I only want you to know—I'm here to stay. If you'll have me."</p><p>Dean looked shaken. Hesitant."Sure you won't go fluttering off again to start up a new 'Revolutionary Parade for Rogue Angels?' Joking. Good.</p><p>So Cas smiled, relieved. The hurt was still there, but he would take every chance he could to fix it.</p><p>"I can assure you that if I <em>were </em>planning a revolutionary parade, which are called 'protests,' by the way—you and Sam would be the first to know," Cas replied.</p><p>Dean smiled softly, and turned the keys in the ignition, the Chevy Impala purring to life. "You want to go out to lunch before hitting the books?"</p><p>Cas glanced at the motel room. "What about Sam?"</p><p>Dean rolled his eyes. "My… very weird freak of a brother has decided to spend the next hour or so purposefully torturing himself. I mean, I know jogging keeps you healthy, but <em>god, </em>at what cost?"</p><p>Cas tapped his fingers on the door to the beat of the song that had just come on the radio. He nodded at Dean, assured in at least their friendship. "I would love to go to lunch with you."</p><p>Dean looked taken aback by the answer, only for a moment, but it passed and he turned up the music with a twirl of his fingers, looking considerably more cheerful. "Double bacon cheeseburgers, here we come. But you're paying," he grinned.</p><p>Cas gave his best smile back, but it felt forced and he wondered if Dean could tell. He was glad Dean's forgiveness could so often be achieved through the simple language of food, that their friendship had survived, and was on the way towards healing.</p><p>Friendship could never be enough, and yet, he found the pain of Dean's company was somehow easier than the absence of it.</p><p>
  <em>I'd rather have you, Dean Winchester. Friends or… otherwise.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Undeserving</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The diner was bustling with a variety of locals, all out for lunch. Dean spotted a few couples who were obviously out on dates, and he wondered what kind of cheapskate would bring his girl to a crappy diner like this. Must be a small town. Either that, or these chicks had very low standards.</p><p>They grabbed the nearest table they could find, smack in the center of the room and draped with a blue and white plaid tablecloth. Dean slipped off his cargo jacket, revealing a pink and blue flannel. He never wore it around Sam anymore, after his younger brother had made a joking, but not unkind, comment about it being 'kinda a chick color," but Cas was different. The angel didn't seem to care much for clothes, as shown in his nonexistent change of apparel over the years.</p><p>And for some reason, Cas was one person Dean could always feel comfortable around. Someone he could be himself with. Maybe it was due to the fact that the angel had literally reconstructed Dean's body and mind from scratch. Or maybe it was because Dean had only ever been the protective, macho older brother to Sammy, and he didn't feel like he could be anything else. Either way, Cas was undoubtedly… different.</p><p>A frenzied waitress rushed over, and Dean kindly picked the first two burgers on the menu so she didn't have to wait.</p><p>Forcing a smile, she jotted down the order, but knocked over their water glasses on the way back. Dean only chuckled, and helped her soak up the spillage.</p><p>"Busy day, huh?"</p><p>She laughed tiredly. "You have no idea—Thank you both so much, I'll be back with your orders in a jiffy."</p><p>She left as quickly as she had come. It made Dean wonder how many water glasses she'd spilled so far today.</p><p>"Dean, is ketchup a vegetable?"</p><p>Dean looked over at Cas, who was squinting at the back of the Heinz bottle.</p><p>
  <em>(kinda adorable)</em>
</p><p>"Hell yes," Dean assured him seriously, and Cas carefully placed the bottle back in its holder, smoothed out his trenchcoat and fiddled with the napkin in front of him. Was the angel…. nervous?</p><p>The waiter returned extra quickly with two plates, and set them down—carefully, thank god—in front of the men with a smile. She had given them each a complimentary side of fries.</p><p>Dean snatched a fry off his plate and immediately understood why all the girls were willing to come here. "Damn—Cas, man you gotta try these fries."</p><p>But Cas still looked nervous, refusing to touch his food, and Dean frowned, sensing deep contemplation.</p><p>"Dude. Hey. Eating is not the time for deep philosophical contemplations, didn't I teach you that?"</p><p>Cas flickered a smile at the remark. "I'm not—I was just thinking about people. Angels. I tried to help them, to show them how beautiful—" Cas stopped and Dean thought he could see a faint blush. "—how important, humanity is. I tried to show them that being an angel means… protection. Fighting for what's right. Not just following orders blindly."</p><p>He sighed deeply, the kind of sigh that carried weight, deep, defeated, and like it was the first breath he'd taken in years, but still it didn't satisfy that feeling of suffocation, of regret. Dean was all too familiar with those sighs, and so he knew Cas had obviously thought a lot about this.</p><p>Dean realized with a pang that he hadn't even come close to understanding the problems his best friend had been dealing with.</p><p>Cas continued, propping his chin on both knuckles. "I thought that I could help them become what they were always meant to be, instead of what Heaven's superiors trained them to be. But I think I just ended up hurting them. Maybe even destroying them."</p><p>"I should never have interfered."</p><p>Dean didn't know what to say. "Well, hey," he said in an attempt at humor, "if you hadn't interfered, I'd still be downstairs doing the hellfire rumba."</p><p>Cas complied with a small smile, but it held sadness, as if Dean was incapable of understanding. "Dean, I don't mean that, I—"</p><p>"Hey, man, I was only joking. I know that's not what you meant. Are you going to eat that?" Dean pointed at Cas's burger, and Cas was amused to find that somehow, Dean had already finished with his own.</p><p>"You really need to eat more slowly, Dean," Cas suggested fondly. "I read once that a mouthful of food should be chewed thoroughly 32 times before swallowing to allow for proper digestion."</p><p>Dean hacked and coughed, choking on the bite he had attempted to eat while simultaneously laughing, and Cas raised an eyebrow.</p><p>"This advice is also applicable to anyone who wishes to avoid death by choking," and his comment was rewarded with more loud hacking coughs from Dean.</p><p>Cas couldn't help but feel lighter, warmer, watching the man's reddening face with amusement: and he passed his own glass of water towards Dean's frantic hand gestures, as the waitress had yet to return with a second glass.</p><p>Breathing heavily, Dean returned to devouring the burger, giving Cas a stubborn grin as he finished swallowing a bite after only 3 chews, and Cas sighed in exasperation.</p><p>"You know what, man?" Dean paused, and looked at him. "I think you're having a midlife crisis." he pointed a ketchup-doused fry at the angel.</p><p>Cas considered. "Well. I am very old, I suppose I'm entitled." Dean nodded, and polished off the last of the fries, wiping his hands on a napkin.</p><p>"Cas, listen to me. Some stuff? You just gotta let go, okay? The people you let down, the ones you can't save—you gotta forget about 'em. For your own good." He tapped his forehead twice and gave Cas a 'sage' look.</p><p>Cas looked at him amused, and disbelieving. "Is that what you would do?"</p><p>Sucking ketchup off his thumb, Dean replied bluntly, "that's the opposite of what I do. But," he shrugged, and flashed a crooked grin. "I ain't exactly a role model."</p><p>Cas's sky eyes locked unblinkingly upon Dean's. "That's not true."</p><p>Son of a bitch. Those damn compliments again. Dean flickered his gaze downwards, then back at the angel. Unsure of what to say, he just laughed shakily. "Yeah, well…"</p><p>The fondness in Cas's eyes when he had said those three simple words… the affection, true and earnest. It was undeniable. When would he ever become used to Cas's blunt devotion? He didn't think he ever could.</p><p>
  <em>Devotion. Devotion?</em>
</p><p>Was that what it really was? It seemed too strong of a word, but then again: Castiel wasn't exactly your average Joe. It was almost as if he was trying to make up for all his years as a stone-cold solider, by expressing emotions more honestly than three humans put together.</p><p>"How are you, Dean?"</p><p>God, those eyes. Blue as the first day they met, but softer. Dean felt as if they were searching through his soul, and he couldn't help but think that he had never seen Cas look at anyone else in such a way. Probably because it wasn't all too often that an angel of the lord lifted a soul from Hell and rebuilt every molecule of their being. Hence the reason for their 'profound bond,' or whatever.</p><p>He glanced quickly down and threw out his usual answer. "Fine, man. I'm great."</p><p>But Cas obviously didn't buy it. The angel tilted his head, giving him a skeptical look. "No you're not."</p><p>Dammit. The feathery dude always could see through his walls, but it didn't hurt to try. It was almost like putting on a show. Acting out a part. The part of an optimistic, cheerful guy who could afford to enjoy a good meal without worrying about life and death. The kind of guy who slept at night, instead of lying awake, brain screaming ceaselessly about the deaths of everyone he'd ever loved. The kind of guy who didn’t have a drinking problem because he didn't need the alcohol to numb away every day of his whole damn life.</p><p>That was the guy he wanted to be, the guy he pretended to be, even though he knew happiness wasn't real. Good things didn't happen to him. Not to Dean Winchester.</p><p>But he just shrugged. "Yeah, well… since when have our lives ever been easy."</p><p>"That doesn't mean you don't deserve happiness, Dean."</p><p>The comment received a strained laugh. "No offense, man, but I think I'm the last person in the world who deserves 'happiness,' whatever that means. The things I've done…" his voice cracked and he flashed a weak smile, fidgeting with the salt shaker. "Maybe I'm not built for happiness, Cas."</p><p>Anger, tense and hot, surged through Cas's throat, and he instinctively reached out to grip the man's left shoulder. Dean looked up, startled from the sudden movement.</p><p>"Dean, why are you the only person who refuses to believe in your own goodness? Everyone who knows you, sees it, but you—you can only see yourself the way our enemies see you, as destructive, and angry; broken. But," he stared deeper into Dean's eyes, chest heaving, yet feeling calmer than he had in a long while because Dean needed to hear this, and dammit, he was going to listen.</p><p>"That's not who you are. Everything you have done, the good and the bad, you have done for love."</p><p>A few diners nearest to their table were staring curiously at the display of intensity, but Cas ignored them, focusing solely on the man in front of him, the only thing that mattered. "You raised your little brother for love. You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are, Dean: the most caring man on earth, and because you cared, I cared, and if you are not deserving of happiness, then no one is."</p><p>Dean's mouth was slightly open, and Cas was gratified to note that the hunter seemed to be coming up short on argumentative comments. He squeezed Dean's shoulder tightly, then let go, and stood up, digging through his trenchcoat pocket for his wallet.</p><p>He dug out three twenty dollar bills—far too much for the two burgers, even including an extravagant tip, but he figured the waitress needed the extra cash—slapped it on the table and pulled Dean's cargo jacket off the chair, hooking it over his arm. Dean slowly got up, as if confused by the sudden hurry to leave, but Cas understood the meaning of human embarrassment. He also knew that a distraction, such as driving back to the hotel, would be a good time for Dean to think over their conversation.</p><p>It was too much to hope for that Dean could actually be able to see himself as Cas saw him. But he knew Dean thought best while driving Baby.</p><p>He also knew he couldn't stare a second longer into Dean's eyes, and still be able to contain himself. Those things, those thoughts…. They were unattainable. Unthinkable.</p><p>Because while Dean thought he was undeserving of happiness, of love, Cas knew himself to be undeserving of Dean Winchester. Love was for the happy. And happiness was given to the lovers.</p><p><em>And we are neither,</em> Cas thought.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. When Liars Come Undone</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They pulled into the parking lot of the motel. Dean could see Sam through the window, doing stretches, of all things. May as well give the weirdo a few more minutes.</p><p>He pulled Cas's arm back from the door, and gestured at the window. "We'd better let him finish up. He likes his 'workout time,'" Dean quoted.</p><p>So Cas sat back in the chair, more contentedly than Dean had seen him in a long while. There was almost a slight smile on the angel's lips, and Dean found himself staring.</p><p>
  <em>Cas's lips what would they feel like taste like what would it be like to kiss him gasping against each other's mouths Cas whispering his name in that graveled reverent tone that he loved and then they would—</em>
</p><p>He shook his head, and turned on the radio, then just as indecisively turned it off.</p><p>"Hey, Cas. Uh—"</p><p>Shit, this was going to be difficult. But if Cas could spill his innermost admirations with perfect sincerity, then Dean could do something to fix this awkwardness that still hung in the space between them. He was tired of its staleness, of its intrusion. And he knew why it was there.</p><p>
  <em>Son of a bitch.</em>
</p><p>Cas was looking back at him, head tilted—</p><p>
  <em>(adorably)</em>
</p><p>—his hands folded in his lap. Dean had to say something. <em>Something. </em>"Cas, we should talk about, you know—what happened."</p><p>The angels eyes squinted softly back at him. "Dean… You know I always appreciate out talks. And our time together. But… I'm afraid I don't know <em>which</em> time you are referring to." He sounded almost apologetic.</p><p>Dean coughed awkwardly, and dug through his pockets in search of their door key, but more in search of something to keep his hands occupied. "You know, man, the uh—the thing with Sam. And the," he scratched his head, "the sigil. And the bath towel."</p><p>
  <em>Why had he mentioned the bath towel?!?!</em>
</p><p>Cas bit back a smile, amused at Dean's reddening ears, but the feeling quickly faded as the memories surfaced. Of how he had stood in that steaming shower room, inches away from Dean's bare chest. Of how nudity had never affected him before, but Dean seemed to be the only exception. Of how seeing Dean like that, it made him want to do things, want to feel things he'd never felt before. Of how Sam had trapped them in that sigil, his intentions kindly meant but hastily executed. Of how shocked, how utterly <em>humiliated, </em>Dean had looked. The horror. The disgust.</p><p>Dean had never been one for words, but Cas didn't need words to know the hunter's emotions, for his truest stories were never the ones spoken by ink or tongue, but the ones Cas read in his eyes.</p><p>And in that moment… he could hardly recall a time when he had seen Dean look more terrified. So he had stuffed his own aching hurt as far back as he could, even though he knew he'd regret it later.</p><p>And he had stopped it. Whatever was happening, Dean obviously hadn't been okay with it, with any of it, and Cas didn't blame him. An angel, a <em>destructive </em>angel, like himself, was not exactly romantic material. Besides, Dean seemed to have a preference for females explicitly.</p><p>Sometimes, Cas found himself regretting that he hadn't chosen a female vessel. Perhaps then, Dean could have loved him as Cas wished to be loved. Perhaps they could've had it all.</p><p>But Dean's disapproval, his revulsion, back in that sigil… they were friends. And cas would far rather uphold that friendship, constant pain withstanding, than lose even a second of Dean Winchester's company.</p><p>So he only clenched his fists together tighter and tighter, until the tips of each finger turned white. "I'm not sure what you wish me to say, Dean. If you would like to talk about it, I will listen…"</p><p>Dean stumbled over his own thoughts. Hell, he didn't know what to say either. What do you say when you missed your only conceivable chance to admit love for your angel best friend who didn't know you were in love with them because <em>you yourself </em>couldn't even tell if you were in love with them, or just desperate for affection and too damaged to know the difference, and then you go on a lunch date together and said angel friend expresses his opinion of you and every word of it is like being simultaneously punched in the gut and kissed full on the lips because you can't believe he holds you so highly because you've done so many things that would prove otherwise and then you're alone and you want to kiss him but you can't because you DON'T KNOW IF HE FEELS THE SAME WAY AND DAMMIT—</p><p>"I think we should just forget about it," Dean muttered gruffly, his thoughts still catapulting around upstairs.</p><p>The words came out harsher than he had intended, and he could see their effect from the hurt look on Cas's face. The angel swallowed visibly, and Dean attempted to repair the damage before it was too late.</p><p>"Wait, Cas, I just—shit. I'm not good at talking about these things, man. I just think—"</p><p>What did he think? What did <em>Cas </em>think?</p><p>"I just think, Sam got confused. Big moose probably just misinterpreted things," Dean tried humorlessly.</p><p>Cas simply stared out the window, yet Dean thought he could see the angels' shoulders and chest quivering slightly.</p><p>When Cas spoke, Dean couldn't see his face, but the words sounded cold, forced. Distant. "I think that would be best."</p><p>Silence. It wasn't awkward this time, but the pained absence of words, of apologies, of affectionate jokes, it was too much, not enough, and far worse than any silence before it.</p><p>Of course Dean didn't want to forget about it. Dammit, what he really wanted to do was grab the friggin idiot by the trenchcoat and kiss him breathless and settle his head beneath the crook of that stubbled jaw and whisper apologies again and again, a thousand times.</p><p>But Cas wouldn't want that. His reply was proof.</p><p>So dean forced himself to get out of the car. He forced his feet to walk up to the door, to open the handle. But he couldn't force himself to return Sam's greeting. He couldn't force himself to look behind him, out at the car parked in the driveway, and so he didn't see.</p><p>He didn't see the fallen angel gasp in agonizing grief, still sitting in the locked car, gripping his face with shaking hands. He didn't see the way Cas curled into himself, and he couldn't hear the strangled breathing, the hitching almost-sobs.</p><p>Dean closed himself off, almost of habit. It was like flipping a switch. Turning his mind to stone had become easier than pretending, at this point. Easier than putting on that dumb act of a joking, care-free brother. A perfect hunter, not only built for the job but <em>accepting </em>of it.</p><p>No. Far easier to carry the weight alone than pretend it didn't exist.</p><p>Dean slammed the bathroom door behind him and turned the shower knob. He felt almost as if he couldn't breathe, as if every second he had to keep reminding himself to <em>take a breath. Take a breath. Breathe in. breathe out. </em></p><p>But instead of slowing, his chest only heaved faster in thick, dry gasps, like a man suffocating to death. Slowly, tipping his head back, he slid down the doorframe until he was sitting on the bathroom floor, hands dangling between his knees.</p><p>The bathroom filled with steam. The mirror began dripping with condensation. He didn't know how much time had passed. <em>You have to move. You have to get up. Do something. Anything. Take a shower. Just get up. This is stupid. Just get </em>UP.</p><p>But the urges collapsed as quickly as they arose.</p><p>He stayed there for a long time.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The One in the Middle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam couldn't believe Dean. Not only had he returned from lunch in a horrible mood—which was uncharacteristic in itself considering his brother's deep love for greasy food—but he had also stolen the only shower in the motel room. For the second time in one day. Cas had come in for a brief moment, and without even looking up, told the wall that he was going to find a nearby nature walk, to which Sam reminded him that this was LA California, to which the angel responded by muttering something about 'flying to Hawaii' and to call him when they began the research. He slammed the door, and Sam heard a faint <em>'whooshflap.' </em></p><p>Apparently, Castiel wasn't feeling too fantastic either.</p><p>So Sam had to sit in silent sweatiness for about half an hour before Dean finally came out of the shower wearing a red flannel and looking even more miserable than before.</p><p>"Dude." Sam looked up from his laptop. "That's the second shower today. And Cas left for <em>Hawaii </em>about 30 minutes ago, looking pretty pissed. So…" He leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows. "What happened, man? I thought you guys were just going to lunch?"</p><p>Dean flicked his eyes around the room, then back at the door. "He left?"</p><p> "Yeah. Said he wanted to 'find a nature walk,' and I told him LA doesn't really have many of those. He also said to call him when we started research."</p><p>Dean said nothing, but Sam could sense the building frustration. "Fine, well…" Dean flopped on the bed, stomach first. "Did you call him yet?"</p><p>Sam frowned at Dean's clipped, empty tone. Something had definitely gone wrong. "I figured… you're the one who usually has better luck in that area."</p><p>Dean bit his lip, as if holding back a barrage of cuss words. Sam made a silent prayer that Dean didn't try to destroy the motel room. The poor owner had had enough for today.</p><p>"Fine." Sam muttered. "I'll call him,"</p><p>Dean said nothing, and began thumbing through John's journal.</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Sam prayed, "Hey Cas, we uh, you can come back now."</p><p>Nothing.</p><p>"Cas? You said to call you when we began research, and uh—well this is our call. I hope you can hear me."</p><p>Dean pulled himself into a sitting position and smirked at Sam, one eyebrow raised. "I toldja: son of a bitch won't answer the phone."</p><p>Sam tilted his wheeled chair around to squint at Dean. "Oh yeah? What exactly did you say to him, man?"</p><p>Shrugging, Dean flicked his eyes down to his own folded hands. "Sammy, I—just cut it out, okay? What you did this morning: I think it really messed him up. So just, don't do that. Ever again."</p><p>Sam was surprised and a little hurt to hear the anger, the threat, in Dean's voice. "Okay. I won't."</p><p>It was quiet for a moment. Dean fiddled with his ring. Then—</p><p>"Dude, he's not answering to me. I think you have to call him."</p><p>"No, Sam, I'm here."</p><p>Both Winchester's turned towards the angel, who stood near the door. He looked tense. Unsure.</p><p>Sam sneaked a look at Dean, and was dismayed to notice that his brother was adamantly refusing to meet Cas's gaze. Instead, Dean wet his lips and began disassembling his pistol, either from anxiety, or an urge to be prepared, or more likely, that it was simplest possible excuse he could come up with whenever he didn't want to talk to a certain trenchcoated angel.</p><p>"I apologize for my late arrival. I happened upon a rare type of bee and couldn't resist…" Cas noticed neither of the Winchester's were paying much attention to his riveting encounter, so he dropped the subject. "Is there anything I can do to help with the investigation?"</p><p>Sam shrugged at his laptop sitting on the desk. "I've already done a bit of research while Dean was hogging the shower," Dean flashed him a bitch-face. "But since I only have one laptop and a few random books that don't seem to have any helpful information on 'white-masked vampire slave-owners slash mentors,' I'm going to have to go back to the bunker. See if we have anything."</p><p>Dean looked suspicious, and, Sam supposed, with good reason. Complicated as these vamps were, they were still just vamps. With a little digging around, and some visits to the nearest abandoned warehouses, Sam figured they could eventually find the nest. He'd done as much research as was necessary, and had actually found quite a bit of lore on old-timey vampire slave-owners. The pieces fit perfectly, which was rare in Sam's experience, so he knew there wasn't much else to do in the research area.</p><p>At least, not in the research area for <em>this </em>case. There was, however, a different problem that he would very much like to crack, and to do that, he needed to visit the bunker.</p><p>Putting on what he hoped was a vaguely tired and bored expression, void of any ulterior motives, Sam glanced at Cas. The angel was still staring at Dean, as if trying to communicate telepathically. Sam coughed, and Cas turned towards him with a grudging look.</p><p>"That means you, Cas," Sam hinted, and he began packing up his things for angelic transportation.</p><p>"Hold on." Dean stood up. "Your laptop has always been enough for any other case, what's so different about this one?"</p><p><em>Crap. Leave it to Dean to try to sabotage his own future happiness. </em>Sam attempted to look exasperated, as if he had already explained himself thoroughly and couldn't see what the problem was.</p><p>"Dean, I told you: this case is weird, man. There's not much on the web, and I think I saw something a few months back that could help, but it was at the bunker, and I can't explain where I saw it, I just know what it looks like."</p><p>His brother shook his head, confused. "Sam, it's just vamps. We've killed vamps. We <em>know </em>vamps. They're just some freaking <em>bloodsuckers </em>with a costume fetish and a messed up class-system. What could go wrong?"</p><p>Sam laughed. "Seriously Dean? And where has <em>that </em>question gotten us? I just want to go see if I can find more information before we give ourselves a dose of fake confidence and strut headlong into a nest of century old vampire trainers, okay? So—Cas, you ready?"</p><p>"uh, no, he isn't." Dean stepped between the two of them. "What are Cas and I supposed to be doing while you're taking your own sweet time with those old hardbacks, huh?"</p><p>"Well…" Sam tried to act casual. "You two can go investigate the town. You know, ask the locals, look into missing persons, the usual."</p><p>Dean looked at him as if he were an idiot. "Dude, did you hit your head or something? We literally just did that. Like a few hours ago. The locals had squat."</p><p>Sam sighed deeply, and moved Dean out of the way. "Look, maybe something will turn up, I don't know. I won't be gone long, and I'll pray to Cas when I'm done, okay? I'm sure you two can find <em>something </em>to do."</p><p>"Sam—" Dean tried to argue more, but Sam grabbed the angel's shoulder with a nod, and they were gone.</p><p>"Son of a BITCH," he shouted to the empty motel room.</p><p>Alone with Cas. Who was obviously upset and might just end up leaving again and there was nothing to investigate and they'd just gotten in another fight and—</p><p>
  <em>What the hell am I going to do.</em>
</p><p>Dean sat back on the end of the bed, head in his hands. Who knew this trip would become such a nightmare. His watch read 3:00 pm. Not even dinner time yet.</p><p>Turning around, he saw the disassembled pieces of his pistol, and sighing, reached over to put them back together.</p><p>"Dean."</p><p>
  <em>CRAP.</em>
</p><p>Dean's head snapped around, to where Cas was standing about a foot away, his belt buckle staring straight at Dean's head level. The hunter took a breath, and pinched his brow. </p><p>
  <em>(he's so close so close all you have to do is reach out and touch his hand he's so close just do it dammit just—)</em>
</p><p>"Cas. We've talked about this. Personal space."</p><p>The trenchcoated angel backed away respectfully, looking down at his black polished shoes. "My apologies."</p><p>Silence.</p><p><em>"Well this is going to be fun," </em>Dean muttered.</p><p>He rammed the last piece back in place, reloaded the bullets, then stood up, swinging the duffel bag over his shoulder. "You feel like goin' on a drive? I think we should go for a drive."</p><p>"Where—"</p><p>But Dean didn't wait to hear the rest of the question. He stormed towards the door, grabbing up the keys from the table, knowing Cas would follow suit.</p><p>
  <em>Knowing. </em>
</p><p>The realization hit him as he slid into Baby's front seat, watching the angel carefully inspect the motel room once more to make sure they hadn't forgotten anything. Just in case.</p><p>
  <em>"I'm here to stay. If you'll have me."</em>
</p><p>Cas's promise, made not too long ago, and it meant more to Dean than he cared to admit.</p><p>Just knowing, <em>knowing, </em>that Cas was here, and even with constant fighting, and insignificant vampire hunts and cheap motel rooms and lousy food and long car drives…. Cas had chosen <em>him. </em>He'd chosen to follow him, to stay with him.</p><p>Cas slid gracefully into the seat opposite of Dean, adamantly refusing to return Dean's stolen glance.</p><p>
  <em>(he's upset and it's my fault AGAIN I hurt him and it's my fault CORRUPTIVE he just gave up heaven for me and I can't even thank him properly it's my fault all my fault—)</em>
</p><p>Swallowing hard, Dean tried to shove down the wave of guilt before it reached his face. Cas deserved better. But for now, he was here, <em>they </em>were here, and dammit, he was tired of being a source of pain. He was tired of being the reason for his best friend's unhappiness.</p><p>Cas looked over at Dean's frozen posture, confused.. "Dean? Are you alright?"</p><p>Startled out of his reverie, Dean met the angel's blue eyes, soft as ever. God, he'd missed that stare. And Dean knew then, sooner or later, Cas would leave him, just like everyone else in his life.</p><p>Sooner or later, Dean would be alone. Isn't that what he deserved, after all?</p><p>But today was Cas's day. Today they were together, for God knew how long, and he wasn't going to mess it up.</p><p>So Dean smiled as warmly as he could, and gripped the wheel tighter, forcing himself to act cheerier than he felt.</p><p>"Have I ever showed you how to play pool?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. I Could Never Give You Peace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Thanks for the comments and kudos so far guys ♥♥♥</p><p>You guys are awesome, and I hope you're all doing okay. I hope this fluffy chapter will send some good vibes your way. I love writing fluff before the angst. It's like... making myself happy, but knowing I'll be torturing myself soon. </p><p>I can't stop thinking about Destiel. Every damn minute, I just can't focus on anything. I try to be productive, but I just end up writing more fanfiction because it's the only thing I feel able to do..... UGH. Also: 20k words! I'm only 1/3 of the way through my plot-outline. Oh my jack</p><p>Love ya'll</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bar was crowded and rowdy, just the way Dean liked it. Even though it was only late afternoon, the dim lighting and musty atmosphere made it seem much later. There were already a few wasted drunkards slopped lazily over the bar's glossy wood countertop. Dean knew the feeling all too well.</p><p>But this time, he wasn't here to drink. He was here for Cas. And Cas was….</p><p>Dean glanced over at the angel behind him, still standing in the doorway. His blue eyes, almost black in the low light, were squinting around grimly, as if analyzing each and every stranger within the tavern's premises. Looking around for the nearest pool table, Dean clapped the angel on the shoulder jovially, and pushed him towards the right corner of the room, where a green-felted game table awaited unused. "Here we go, buddy. All for us."</p><p>No one was paying them any attention whatsoever, whether from lack of sobriety or simple disinterest, but Dean couldn't help feeling slightly self-conscious standing with Cas around the abandoned pool table.</p><p>"Dean. Is this really necessary? Shouldn't we be investigating for the hunt?" Cas sounded utterly conflicted, but Dean thought he could sense a hint of curiosity.</p><p>He smirked. "Cas, there are two things I know for certain." he grabbed the nearest cue stick, and began polishing the nub. "One: Bert and Ernie are gay."</p><p>He raised an eyebrow, giving the angel a mock-serious look, and began arranging the balls into a triangle shape. "and two: you can't be a part of the team without knowing how to play a decent game of pool."</p><p>Cas frowned seriously, watching as Dean slipped the triangle over the 15 balls. "What do cartoon characters have to do with homosexuality, and how do they relate to a billiard game?"</p><p>Dean straightened, regarding the confused angel with amusement. "Man, what you <em>really </em>need are some lessons in how to not be so literal about everything. Also: how to have a conversation."</p><p>"I doubt lessons on such topics would be any less confusing than your constant onslaught of pop-culture references and odd phrases," Cas assured him in a dry tone.</p><p>Dean decided to move on.</p><p>"Okay, so—come here—the first thing you have to do, like I just showed you, is you gotta rub the smaller end of your cue stick with a chalk pad." He gave Cas a sage look, and nodded as the angel followed his instructions. "Gives it more friction, see—so the tip doesn't slide off the cue ball as easily. More chalk, less slip. Plus, it helps give the cue ball a bit of a spin."</p><p>Cas frowned. "And I want that? —spin?"</p><p>"Oh, yeah. That's why it's best to chalk up your stick before each hit. Eventually, it'll just become instinct."</p><p>Dean gestured at the triangle, and the 15 balls nestled inside. "Okay, so this is how you set up the game. Make sure to put the 8 ball in the middle—" Cas leaned over, dark head right below Dean's chin, studying the arrangement.</p><p>"That's the black one."</p><p>Dean swallowed. Cas was so close. Not much closer than any time before, but somehow, this felt different. Nodding nervously, and wetting his lips, he continued. "Now, the eight ball, she's the winner."</p><p>He plucked the black sphere from its group and held it to Cas's face with a crooked smirk. "This one can't be sunk until <em>all </em>of your other balls have been sunk."</p><p>"Sunk?"</p><p>"Yeah." Dean dropped a ball into the nearest corner pocket. "When you succeed in hitting a ball into a pocket."</p><p>The angel squinted in understanding, and nodded sharply.</p><p>Dean had a sudden memory of his own father taking him to a bar when he was young. Only 5 years old, or so. <em>Have to learn to make a living sooner or later, </em>John had said. His father had taught him many things, things no adult, much less a child, should have to know. But Dean had been excited to learn the famous billiard game, especially since it was the first <em>recreational </em>activity John had ever really let him participate in, other than watching cartoons on cheap motel TV's with Sammy.</p><p>Of course, to John, this wasn't some 'father son bonding session,' it was just another lesson in survival. Another lesson proving that 'fun' wasn't part of a hunter's vocabulary. Not even for a five year old hunter. Certainly not for Dean.</p><p>The memory felt stiff. Resentful. Distant.</p><p>Of course, John hadn't bothered to teach Sammy the game. Dean was the one who could be counted on for money-making. But his little brother had wanted in on the fun, and so Dean taught him everything he knew.</p><p>In the end, it was thanks to Dean that Sammy's learning experiences could be considered as fond memories.</p><p>And it was thanks to Sammy that Dean even <em>had </em>any good memories.</p><p>Until Cas, of course.</p><p>Dean snapped out of his thoughts to see the angel waiting patiently for new instructions. He took a breath and hefted his own stick. <em>Stay here. Stay in the moment. </em></p><p>"Okay now I just…" he carefully slipped the triangle off, and steadied his cue stick, aiming straight for the top of the pyramid. With a firm strike, the balls scattered across the green felt, ricocheting off one another with heavy thunks, a sound now both familiar and comforting to Dean.</p><p>Satisfied, he grinned at Cas. "Now that, is called the <em>break. </em>Next, the players would usually flip a coin to determine who gets to go first, but since you're new…" he steadied his stick a couple inches away from the cue ball, aiming towards a striped yellow. He glanced up at Cas with a wink. "…I'll show you how it's done."</p><p>Dean managed to sink three stripes before the fourth reflected off a corner instead of dropping into the pocket. Shrugging, Dean stood upright and faced Cas, who, he flushed to realize, had been watching his movement with the focus and intensity of a predator memorizing their prey's habits. Maybe Cas was taking the game a <em>little </em>too seriously.</p><p>Dean forced a chuckle and clapped the angel on the back, trying to ignore the paralyzing effect of those blue eyes. Those damn eyes.</p><p>
  <em>(every time he saw them, needed them, wished to be under them, lying beneath that sky eyed thunderstorm of energy, their fluid rhythm synchronized together, his dark brow focused on the moving man beneath, surrendering to the angel—)</em>
</p><p>Dean shook his head, but the image of Cas's electric stare seemed to have imprinted on the back of his eyelids, like a white hot light in a black room that you accidently stared at a little too long.</p><p> "Okay, buddy. Your turn. Just line the pool tip up with the cue ball—that's the white one—aim at one of the solids, and hit em' like you mean it."</p><p>Cas bent over slightly, biting his bottom lip in concentration and Dean had to look away. The image was far too similar to—no. Those were the types of things he couldn't think about.</p><p>Fortunately, Dean found something else to concentrate on, because Cas's form was absolutely atrocious. Unfortunately, that <em>also </em>meant he would have to…</p><p>
  <em>Crap. </em>
</p><p>"I did not think this through," Dean muttered under his breath, and wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans.</p><p>Cas peered closely at his pool stick, then at his hands, brow furrowed. "Dean I don't think I'm doing this right."</p><p>"No," Dean choked out a quick laugh, "dude your hand position is awful. It should be more like…" he rested the stick on top of his hand, index finger bent in a hook, and gestured the movement of striking the tip forward, then sliding it back. "See, this creates the perfect control. Also, never move your hand. Only your back arm." Dean tried to ignore the warm feeling fizzing up in his chest at the thought of Cas’ eyes intently tracking his every move.</p><p>He waved a hand at the pool table, meaning 'try again,' and the angel adjusted his form to match the hunter's.</p><p>"Okay, now try focusing on hitting the cue ball straight on, and with power, but aim it as if you were to directly hit that solid ball."</p><p>Cas gestured questioningly at a solid red ball near the right corner pocket. A straight shot.</p><p>"yeah, that one's good. Okay now… line up, and focus on the spot you'd <em>be </em>hitting if you were allowed to just hit the solid ball. Got it?"</p><p>"yes." Cas whispered in a low, focused voice.</p><p>"Good. Your form looks good enough—now just aim to get the cue ball to hit <em>that spot </em>on your solid ball."</p><p>Cas wet his bottom lip, practically laser-beaming his target point, and then hit the white ball with a sharp <em>thwack. </em>Dean watched, impressed, as the solid red ball disappeared smoothly within the pocket.</p><p>Straightening, Cas swept the table with his eyes. "I understand now. The goal is to calculate the velocity and placement of the white ball to affect the trajectories of the surrounding balls…" he nodded, seeming pleased with himself. "It's basic geometry. I assume that is why the diamonds are placed on the rim of the table: as a reference for angling the balls toward the holes."</p><p>Dean raised his eyebrows. "um… I guess, yeah, that's one way to put it."</p><p>"Why didn't you explain this to me when we began?" Cas asked, amused at Dean's surprise.</p><p>"Well, we can't all be nerds," Dean joked, poking the angel's back with the end of his pool stick.</p><p>Focusing on lining up his next shot, Cas replied distractedly, "You know I do not take that term to be an insult, Dean. Though used negatively, the nickname actually refers to someone of high intellect, often in a specific category or subject." He glanced away from his shot to raise a skeptical brow at the hunter. "Nerds are only lesser-appreciated geniuses. So…."</p><p>He hit the white ball firmly, sending a second solid ball ricocheting towards a side pocket. At the last moment, the ball collided with the corner edge, spinning in the opposite direction, and Cas gave a small huff of disappointment.</p><p>"You were saying?" Dean smirked. "Genius, huh."</p><p>"I did not label <em>myself </em>as a genius," Cas grumbled petulantly, "I willingly admit to being a novice at this odd game of mathematics."</p><p>Dean chuckled at the angel's ruffled tone. "Yeah, <em>sure. </em>Well if the genius will accept a bit of criticism, his lowly, Neanderthal friend has some advice."</p><p>Cas almost rolled his eyes, but allowed Dean to join him at the end of the table without argument.</p><p> Dean gently grabbed the trenchcoated elbow before he had time to realize how closely they were standing: his laced cargo boots enclosing one of Cas's polished dress shoes, his own thigh pressed into the back of the angel's leg. A rush of nervous excitement pounded through his body, and he realized Cas wasn't resisting the touch.</p><p>He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this way with any girl. Maybe never.</p><p>He tried to ignore the heat pulsing through his body, the way his forehead felt flushed and his knees were so numb and <em>shit </em>why was this happening.</p><p>Cas was staring over his shoulder at Dean, waiting for further instructions, as if having the hunter pressed up against his back was perfectly normal.</p><p>
  <em>(lips so close, I can feel his breath, warm and slow, he seems calm why can't I just calm down—)</em>
</p><p> Dean looked down, pretended to analyze the angel's position, hoping Cas couldn't see his expression in the dim lighting.</p><p>"Okay, so—" Dean rasped out, then cleared his throat and continued, "you're bringing your elbow too far into your body when you stroke. And uh," he gently kicked the inside of Cas's foot so that his legs spread further apart. "—keep your feet squared evenly. It'll help you with balance."</p><p>Cas nodded, looking down at the adjustments, as if memorizing his position for future games. Dean bit his lip with hesitation. <em>Screw it. </em></p><p>He reached out, placing a hand on either of Cas's hips,</p><p>
  <em>(warmth seeping into his fingers, satiny trenchcoat covering a leather belt and firm body and—)</em>
</p><p>rotating him until he was in the correct position. The angel's dark head snapped up in surprise, but Dean was relieved to notice he didn't seem to have any remarks about the abnormally intimate gesture. Actually, Dean was a little surprised himself at Cas's lack of resistance. Cas was yielding to every small press of his hand, every correction, every nudge. He seemed a bit surprised, nervous even, Dean could tell, but it was almost like…</p><p><em>Cas is enjoying it, </em>Dean realized with shock, his heart jolting into his throat.</p><p>Cas wasn't one for dramatic expressions, but Dean had known the angel long enough to know when he was enjoying himself. It was a soft, assuring look, a calming, content lift in the corners of his mouth, brow relaxed, a tilt of the head. Seeing happiness on Cas's face was rare, but somehow so familiar.</p><p>Dean knew for a fact he could count on one hand the number of times he'd seen Cas smile. <em>Really </em>smile. Cas could probably say the same for Dean.</p><p>
  <em>God our lives are a fucking mess. </em>
</p><p>No<em>. He</em> was the mess, and Cas could never be truly happy with him. Peace was something Dean Winchester had never had, and yet it was only the bare minimum of what Cas deserved.</p><p>If Cas was blue ocean waves, Dean was the hurricane that twisted the beautiful water into a fury.</p><p>If Cas was a dreamscape painted on a wall, Dean was the wrecking ball that demolished the entire house.</p><p>And if Cas was sunshine, Dean was the desert, using those golden rays to kill, and suck the life from everything around him, turning something good into a <em>weapon, </em>as he always had.</p><p>Dean knew these things to be true, because he knew what lived inside himself, he knew the danger that waited around every corner, and so long as Cas was with him, peace was unattainable.</p><p>But if not peace, at least a moment of happiness. Dean suddenly needed to see Cas's real smile, <em>wanted </em>it so badly his chest ached for it, and he didn't know how, but even if it only ever happened once, even if tonight was the first and the last time he could make it happen: he wanted to be the <em>reason</em> for Cas's smile.</p><p>Dammit, for once in his godforsaken mess of a life, Dean wanted to be the source of something good, and real, and beautiful. He wanted to be something—<em>someone—</em>Cas deserved.</p><p>"Cas, I—" he croaked, but couldn't finish the sentence.</p><p>Cas's eyes squinted at him in worry. "Dean?"</p><p>
  <em>Stay in the moment. Don't ruin it. Don't ruin it. </em>
</p><p>Dean bit at his bottom lip, and tried to pull a grin. "I.. "</p><p>Suddenly he realized he was still pressed flush against Cas, hands gripping his hips. It had only been a couple seconds, but that was enough for Dean to make it <em>pretty </em>awkward.</p><p>To hell with it. Cas probably didn't even understand the human implications of their position. He let go anyway, but didn't step back.</p><p>
  <em>Make him smile. Just make him smile.</em>
</p><p>Cas was still looking at him funny, so Dean coughed up the first lame thing that came to mind. "I was just going to say that this is nice. You know. Hanging out, just us."</p><p>Cas fidgeted gently against him, and Dean realized he was trying to make his next shot. He chuckled. "You're really going to try to beat me, huh?"</p><p>Cas raised an eyebrow, leaning forward a bit. "Well…" he fired off the white ball, striking it dead center on his targeted solid ball, sending it spinning directly into the desired pocket.</p><p>He stood up, obviously satisfied with himself. "…I believe I just scored a ball on what was <em>supposed </em>to be YOUR turn, Dean. So… Yes. I do believe I will win."</p><p>Dean scoffed. "Okay, Eddie Felson, just take your damn turn."</p><p>Cas gave him an odd look, then walked around the side of the pool table to access his next shot. Dean rolled his eyes, leaning his weight on his propped up pool stick. "Oh dude. Come ON. The Hustler? Seriously? Didn't we watch that one already?"</p><p>"I would remember, Dean. I remember everything. But that name doesn't strike any gongs," Cas said seriously, while focusing on his target.</p><p>"Bells, Cas."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>Dean held back a laugh. "The saying—'it doesn't ring a bell.' But you were kinda close."</p><p>He watched Cas do his dumb geometry trick, and sink the next shot with surprising ease. "Well, damn. You actually don't suck at this."</p><p>Cas glanced up from his bent position, looking slightly offended. "As I said before. Humans and their compliments. Perhaps you should take <em>lessons</em> on the subject, <em>Dean</em>."</p><p><em>Was Cas…. Actually joking? </em>Dean's mouth opened slightly in surprise, and he stuttered from lack of a snarky response. "Yeah, well, <em>you, </em>should… take. Lessons."</p><p>Cas met his eyes with a fond glow of warmth, and it was a few moments before Dean realized they were standing in a crowded bar with a pool table between them, staring into each other's eyes. It was a strange feeling, as always, almost…. <em>Healing. </em></p><p>When Cas spoke, shadowed eyes still pulling him in, Dean almost didn't hear the words.</p><p>"Dean." He saw Cas's lips forming the word, and took a breath, pulling himself from the brink. <em>I can't think like that. Not like that. Not about those things.</em></p><p>"Dean." Insistent. "Do you want me to show you?"</p><p>
  <em>What? What was he saying?</em>
</p><p>"uh—show me what?"</p><p>Cas shifted awkwardly, as if he could see the thoughts, the visuals, running rampant through Dean's mind.</p><p>"The specifics to my geometric-based technique which is granting me so much success."</p><p>Dean raised an eyebrow. He'd rarely seen this side of Cas, but he liked it, liked seeing Cas look so relaxed. "If you're okay with giving away all your secrets," he joked. "But first…" he shifted his eyes over to the bar. "I'm gonna get a few shots for us."</p><p>He raised a finger at Cas as if warning him. "And don't think I won't notice if you shoot a few extra points while I'm gone."</p><p>Cas nodded, one corner of his mouth raised. "Of course not."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Sam Winchester: The Man Who Never Knocked on Doors</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>yeah, yeah, this is a short one. Just setting up for the next couple chapters which are going to be so fun to write. Because... CHARLIE! </p><p>And of course, the continuation of Dean/Cas's pool game. ;)</p><p>Stay tuned!</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sam slumped on Dean's bed, fingers pinching the brooding ache above his nose that had begun a little while ago, but had now sprung into a full-sized throb of frustration.</p><p>He had sent Jack and the girls back to Jody's house temporarily, so his investigation could go uninterrupted, but after almost an hour of searching the bunker, still nothing. Dean must have hidden them someplace seriously private.</p><p>Sam's suspicions had begun a couple months ago, when he'd tried to inform Dean about a recent phone-call with Bobby. A new case, and it sounded pretty urgent.</p><p>He'd walked up to Dean's door, but it was then that he heard it: that piece-of-crap ancient typewriter Dean had saved from the garbage when they'd first moved into the bunker. Sam remembered the day well. Worst migraine he'd ever had.</p><p>After playing around with as many dangerous, possibly cursed, objects he could find, Dean had insisted on bringing the damn thing into the map-room. Of course, Sam had been busy with the rather exciting activity of unboxing crate after crate of forgotten lore, scribbled notes from the original Men of Letters, and the occasional tape-recording, which he had to force himself to save for later.</p><p>It was astonishing, really, how loud a half-broken typewriter could be, especially after listening to it for 4 hours straight because the idiot manning the machine decided to type out every damned word he could remember.</p><p> Of course, the noise had only made Dean happier, despite Sam's complaints. So when Dean had left to grab some dinner for a long evening of organizing, cataloguing and unboxing, Sam was more than ready to get rid of the monstrosity for good. That's when he saw Dean's last sentence, right at the top of the sheet:</p>
<h2>If you try to remove this typewriter, I'll kill you.</h2><p>Then, a few months ago, on the day Sam had walked up to Dean's door after Bobby's phone-call: he'd heard the damned thing again. Of course, this in itself wasn't enough to warrant suspicion. But there had been more than one occasion when he'd walked in on Dean clacking away, only to have his older brother sheepishly yank the sheet out, crumple it into a ball, and throw it into the wastebasket, all before Sam could even get a glance at what he'd been writing.</p><p>Dean's excuse had always been <em>"because privacy. And stuff."</em></p><p>But Sam's curiosity had never been something that died out easily. And that's when he'd noticed that no matter how many sheets of paper Dean crumpled up and tossed in the wastebasket, those crumpled balls were never seen again. And Dean never took out the trash. </p><p>Which meant whatever Dean had written was obviously worth the trouble of hiding away.</p><p>And yet, after an hour of searching, Sam still had nothing to show for it.</p><p>Because although he'd never been able to read the full page, he had managed to catch a brief glimpse. Just once. But it had been enough.</p><p>And now it was enough to keep him going.</p><p>Those words were the start of it all.</p>
<h2>Cas. Last night. First time. Feelings. Differently.</h2><p>Sam got up from the bed. He was going to find those damn notes, because if Dean had a chance at real happiness….</p><p>But first things first: find the evidence. Make sure this thing <em>was </em>real. Just like any other case. He couldn't mess up again.</p><p>Sam flipped open his phone. He had to get this done before Cas and Dean got suspicious, which meant he was going to need help. Luckily, he knew just the person to call.</p><p>The receiver picked up immediately.</p><p>"Charlie, hey," Sam smiled. "You got a minute?"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Earth Angel</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Boo-yah, bitches. CHAPTER 16 = FINISHED!</p><p>Enjoy!! ♥♥♥</p><p>Love ya'll, and thank you for your wonderful comments and kudos. You guys truly make my day better.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Earth angel, Earth angel, will you be mine?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My darling dear, love you all the time.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm just a fool, a fool in love with you.</em>
</p><p>The lyrics drifted out of the vinyl jukebox in the corner of the bar, crackling slightly with static near the beginning, but smoothed out enough for Dean to recognize the tune. He smiled a little at the familiar words. His childhood, if you could even call it that, hadn't had much in the way of fun. Whatever time hadn't been spent making food for Sam, hunting with Dad, or staring out the window of the Impala, had been mostly pacing around motel rooms and watching whatever happened to be on TV at the time. Back to the Future had been one of his favorite films, although he had only gotten to watch it once. </p><p>Dean loved Sam, and had always considered Sam's protection to be at the top of his priorities: above everything else. <em>"What's more important: your damn 'happiness,' or Sammy's life?"</em> He couldn't count the number of times his Dad had said that to him.</p><p>But at 16 years old, sometimes being the big brother wasn't enough. Sometimes, when the newest motel room's walls seemed to stare at him, and the arsenal hidden under his bed kept him awake, and the sound of his father shouting through his phone in the next room became too unbearable, he felt a desperate, scratching need to be anyone but Dean Winchester.</p><p>Sure, he'd play up the 'hero' act to his father. To his younger brother, even to the kids at his school. When he had time to attend school, that is. They called him a liar, a retard, a freak, a player: but they couldn't know that the names Dean called himself in his own thoughts were much worse by far.</p><p>And sometimes, Dean wanted to escape his life, his thoughts, and occasionally, even Sammy.</p><p>When that happened, he was glad to have Lee around.</p><p>A bartender with black waves looped into a messy bun carefully walked over to his spot at the counter, balancing a shot-tray, each small glass filled to the brim. There were only six glasses in total, and Dean had <em>seen </em>Cas easily down five shots before even <em>starting</em> to feel something. They were going to need more.</p><p>"Oh, uh—"he pointed at the tray. "Can I get another one of those?" The bartender—Taylor, according to her nametag— raised a skeptical eyebrow, but returned behind the counter to grab the whiskey bottle.</p><p>"You lookin' to get wasted tonight?" She asked, and Dean looked up. "Cause ya know, this stuff is pretty strong."</p><p>"Actually," Dean shrugged his chin over his shoulder at Cas, who seemed to be having a good time inspecting the structure of the pool table. "Those are for him."</p><p>"Huh." She strained her neck to get a look at the angel and Dean almost laughed at her confused expression. "Well, I gotta be honest—" she handed him the second tray. "I was kinda hoping you'd… stay over here. So we could chat." She leaned over on the glossed counter top, and Dean suddenly noticed how blue her eyes were. Not the same as Cas's though. More of a gray-blue.</p><p>She flicked her head in the direction of the jukebox. "You know this song?"</p><p>Dean scoffed. "Who <em>wouldn't </em>know this song? It's a classic."</p><p>
  <em>I hope and I pray, that some day</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'll be the vision of your hap, happiness.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Earth angel, Earth angel, please be mine.</em>
</p><p>Happiness. The word hadn't made sense to him as a teenager, and it didn't make sense to him now. Honestly, he kinda wished the word didn't even exit. Then maybe he wouldn't have to wonder his whole life what it meant. And why he'd never felt it.</p><p>Even in his best memories, there had always something in the background of his mind, a stain that stood out from everything else. And that stain… one glance at it, one thought, and every moment of his horror-story life would come flooding back.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe happiness is just a hoax and everybody just likes to say they're happy because it sounds nice, but they don't really know what it means either. Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I don't deserve happiness and no matter what I do I won't ever really feel it. Maybe the only reason I can't have happiness is because every time something good happened, I had to let go, or give it up. Or shove it away. Like Lee. Like—</em>
</p><p>Dean shook himself out of his thoughts. Thinking like that never did any good. He returned his focus to the bartender, who was squinting at him in concern.</p><p>"Hey, you okay?"</p><p>Dean nodded slowly, still feeling kinda out of it. He wet his lips, trying to remember what he'd been doing. Taylor nudged his shoulder with her finger. "Your uh, your buddy looks a little worried about you."</p><p>Cas was still standing by the pool table, but Dean could see the tell-tale signs of forthcoming questions beginning to crease the angel's forehead.</p><p>He sighed. "I better get back over there." He slid back the barstool, and reached to collect the shot-trays, but Taylor's hand touched his wrist, and he looked up to see her smirking.</p><p>"Whoa there. As much as I like you, I can't really let you go without paying first. You know how it is with getting drunk and being forgetful…"</p><p>"Besides…" Dean noticed she was writing something down on a napkin scrap. "If you're up for it, I was thinking maybe… I'm free tomorrow night?" She gave him a wink, picked up his credit card and walked around the corner to the register.</p><p>Dean glanced at the note. It was an address to a motel near their own, only a few minutes drive away. Dean groaned silently. Of all the times to get hit on by a pretty girl. <em>And </em>she was making the first move, which was rare, and <em>very </em>welcome.</p><p>But Sam would be back by tomorrow night, likely with plenty of information on the vamp nest, which meant a hunt. As much as Dean liked this girl's bravado, he somehow doubted she'd be okay with beheading blood-thirsty vamps with a guy she met only a day ago.</p><p>Besides, he didn't feel like it. A statement which, he was sure, would get Sam running for a thermometer, a healer and every curse-breaking book they owned. But it was the truth. Suddenly Dean felt as if he hadn't moved in years, had just been sitting there with the hurt, hunched over on the cold wood counter top in the dim light, just waiting for something.</p><p>
  <em>Breathe. Just take a breath. Get yourself together, dammit. </em>
</p><p>Taylor came back with his credit card and an all-too-flirtatious smile. "So? How about it?" The dark eye-liner just under each eye made their ocean-gray color rather hard to ignore.</p><p>
  <em>Still not as blue as—</em>
</p><p>"Well… see," Dean started, trying to let her down easy. It took guts to invite a strange man back with you, even if it wasn't the girl's real address, he could appreciate the effort. She looked him in the eyes as he struggled to piece together an appropriate non-insane excuse, then she nodded, obviously disappointed.</p><p>"Stop right there," she held up one finger, and Dean could see a feather tattoo on the inside of her wrist. He wondered, for a brief moment, if there were more, but the thought wilted away with little interest. Looking up, he expected to see annoyance. But she was smiling; softly, and Dean thought he could see a familiar <em>insecurity</em> lingering in the expression.</p><p>"Hon…if there's one thing I've learned in all my years on the road, it's when somebody is pining for somebody else," she met his eyes, not looking away.</p><p>
  <em>What is it with blue eyes and staring through souls??</em>
</p><p>Dean smirked. "Not really my thing."</p><p>"Uh huh. Trust me, I've had a lot of experience in the area of broken hearts and broken compasses. So don't try to hide it." She took back the napkin note and crumpled it into her apron.</p><p>Dean almost walked away, then—</p><p>"Do you want to know the secret to living a long and happy life?"</p><p>She continued without waiting for an answer, grabbing Dean's rough hand with her own soft fingers. "Follow your heart."</p><p>"And I KNOW," she smiled, reading Dean's thoughts. " It sounds cliché. But just try it, and all the rest figures itself out. Now I don't know who the lucky lady—or <em>man</em>—is, but I think they deserve your honesty just as much as you do."</p><p>Dean gaped at her, trying unsuccessfully to mask his conflicting emotions, and she chuckled. "Hey, I have a sense for these sort of things."</p><p>
  <em>I fell for you, and I knew</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The vision of your love's loveliness.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I hope and I pray, that some day</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'll be the vision, the vision of your happiness.</em>
</p><p>Taylor tilted her head towards the jukebox. "Didn't this song end already?" She huffed out a sigh. "Sometimes the crap-thing jams and just starts repeating itself. I should go fix it."</p><p>She squeezed Dean's wrist once more, with meaning. "Remember what I said."</p><p>Dean knew he <em>would </em>remember. It hit a little to close to home, and things like that weren't easily forgotten.</p><p>He knew he was tired. Tired of using the same cheap pick up lines on lonely drifters. Tired of bringing strangers into his motel room. Tired of <em>being </em>in a motel room. The thrill of hot sex with a willing, pretty girl had always been a distraction, rarely anything more. Lisa, of course, had been one of two exceptions, but if he was being honest with himself, Lisa, Ben, that 'apple-pie' life… the only reason he'd tried it was because he'd promised Sam. Hell, it had been Sam's dying wish. And Dean wasn't anything if not respectful of dying wishes.</p><p>He was glad he had taken that year with Lisa and Ben. But mostly, because it had shown him that the suburban family life truly wasn't his to live. It didn't <em>stick. </em>There were too many doubts, and especially, too many fears that he'd end up just like his Dad.</p><p>Perhaps if he had never tried it, he'd still be wishing for it. Still be waiting, wanting, yearning for it.</p><p>But now…</p><p>
  <em> I just don't know. </em>
</p><p>Lee had been the only real hunter friend he'd ever had, back then. And look what that had gotten him.</p><p>He wondered if even a hunter would take him at this point. Or if…</p><p>
  <em>Maybe I'm meant to be alone.</em>
</p><p>"Dean?"</p><p>A hand at his shoulder, warm and solid. Dean tried not to spill the shots. "DAMmit Cas, how many times—"</p><p>"Are you alright?" He inspected Dean's pale face with a worried expression.</p><p>"Yeah, I'm—"Dean flinched as he felt a hot hand on his forehead: Cas's hand. "Cas, what—"</p><p>Cas moved on to examining his eyeball, with no less firmness than before, and Dean let him. When Cas got like this, it was like a comatose patient trying to stop the surgeon from performing the operation.</p><p><em>Surgeon in a trenchcoat, </em>Dean thought vaguely, amused at the image of Cas trying to perform surgery. What a mess <em>that </em>would be.</p><p>"Cas, hey—" Dean insisted, and the death-grip on his chin finally loosened. Cas held up a finger. "Let me take your temperature."</p><p>"What?!—whoa, no that's not going to happen. Seriously, I'm fine."</p><p>Cas squinted at him suspiciously, but decided to let it go.</p><p>Dean massaged his chin, wincing. "Man, you really wouldn't make a gentle nurse."</p><p>"I am not a nurse, Dean."</p><p>A group of late-afternoon customers poured stepped through the door, winding their way around the two men. Dean tried to move out of the way, but Cas secured a handful of Dean's shoulder.</p><p>"Dean—something is wrong. I won't leave here until you tell me."</p><p><em>"Jesus, </em>Cas, I'm fine."</p><p>"No, you're not. Also, I would prefer if you did not randomly spout the names of my kin, as you so often do. It's…" Cas frowned. "Odd."</p><p>Dean would've laughed, but the weight of his thoughts had begun to flood back in.</p><p>Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to tell Cas about Lee. The dude knew most everything about him, anyway.</p><p>"I was just…thinking about an old buddy of mind. This song reminded me of him. Kinda brought me 'back to the past,' if you know what I mean."</p><p>"I don't."</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"I don't know what you mean."</p><p>Dean sighed. "Well there's another one for the list."</p><p>Cas tilted his head, regarding Dean carefully. "Was this friend of yours… were you close?" He said the word like it meant more than Dean had implied.</p><p>"Well… he was kind of the only friend I had." Dean began replacing the pool sticks and balls. This would be a long conversation, and there were other customers.</p><p>"What about Sam?" Cas reached out to collect the chalk pads, thoughtfully rubbing them between his fingers.</p><p>Dean laughed bitterly. "I loved the kid, don't get me wrong. But we didn't get along as well back then as we do now."</p><p>"You barely get along now."</p><p>"Yeah, <em>ha-HA," </em>Dean huffed, although he knew it was a pretty accurate statement.</p><p>"Sammy was… always arguing with dad. And Dad would argue back. And I would be the one in the middle. So of course, I'd have to pick a side, and most often I tried to be the peace-maker, but those two were like the most violent episode of Family Feud ever."</p><p>Dean held up a finger, interrupting Cas mid-word. "Don't say it. I promise I'll expose you to all the chaotic idiocy of game-show television later."</p><p>Cas handed him the chalk pads, and Dean placed them back in the equipment slot. "I'm sorry Dean. I wish I could have been there. For you. I didn't know you at the time, of course, but I wish I had."</p><p>Dean blinked at the honesty in Cas's words. Always so freakin emotional, that angel. Not that he minded, much. It was nice to have a source for truths in his life, especially when everything else seemed to be built from lies.</p><p>"Well, thanks, Cas. It wasn't too bad. It was nice to have Lee, as an escape, ya know? But it didn't last long."</p><p>"I assume your friendship was ended due to your nomadic lifestyle?"</p><p>Dean shrugged. "Well, yeah, I guess that was part of it. Lee was actually a hunter, so he understood the life." Dean sat on the edge of the pool table, and Cas joined him, the edge of his trenchcoat settling only a few inches away from Dean's hand.</p><p>
  <em>So close.</em>
</p><p>"We stayed in the same town working on hunts together with Dad, for a few months."</p><p>"What happened?"</p><p>"Uh.." Such an innocent question. Such a difficult answer.</p><p>Cas noticed his hesitation. "If you are not comfortable talking about it, Dean, I understand."</p><p>
  <em>No. I need this. We need this.</em>
</p><p>Dean looked down at his hands. "No, Cas, this is good. I—" he laughed bitterly. "I haven't even told Sammy about this. I probably should have. But—"</p><p>
  <em>Too many people here. </em>
</p><p>"Cas this isn't really a good place to talk about it. Meet me out in the car? Just give me a few minutes, okay?"</p><p>Cas nodded, obviously curious, but left anyway. Dean grabbed a napkin from the nearest dispenser, borrowed a pen from a friendly drunk, and scrawled out a quick message.</p>
<h3>
  <em>Taylor,</em>
</h3><h3>
  <em>Thanks for the advice. I'm trying. I won't forget.</em>
</h3><h3>
  <em>Good luck with the jukebox.</em>
</h3><h3>
  <em>-Marty McFly</em>
</h3><p>He smiled at the pseudonym, hoping she'd get the reference. He left the note at the same place they'd talked. And he followed his heart out the door, leaving the two trays of shots where he'd left them.</p><p>Somehow, he didn't really feel like booze either.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. All Too Well</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>This is a rough one. I’m sorry.</p><p> </p><p>(Also: got the idea from a text post on Pinterest I saw a while back. I have no idea who wrote it, but if you DO know, tell me, and I’ll give ‘em credit, because damn if I haven’t cried over that post so many times.</p><p> </p><p>Love y’all. Thanks for sticking with me ♥️</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It felt weird walking into the golden afternoon light after having adjusted to the bar's dingy atmosphere. Like exiting a dark movie theatre, and you just assume it's night, but then you see the sunny daylight pouring in through the doors, and there's this odd moment of confusion, like you've gone back in time to an earlier point in the day.</p><p>Dean had only been to a movie theatre once in his life, but he remembered the feeling well. Of course, it wasn't the only thing he remembered about that day. His last day with Lee.</p><p>He could see Cas sitting quietly within the confines of the Impala, just staring peacefully out the window. Dean felt a flicker of fondness spark somewhere in his chest, and he knew then: he <em>wanted </em>to tell Cas this story. He ached to let someone in, after decades of closing everyone out, and Cas had been the only one ever capable of breaking down his barriers…</p><p>Sometimes the things that Cas opened up inside him were bad. Angry, terrified, poisoned thoughts, that he had tried so hard to keep locked away. And he would blame Cas, again and again, but Cas would always come back to heal him, to open up that locked box of his, to gently remove brick after brick from the terrible wall in Dean's mind, even if the bricks burned with each touch, Cas kept trying to let himself in.</p><p>
  <em>Maybe I'm wrong and maybe I should just keep my mouth shut and maybe I'm messing up and everything will be weird after I tell him.</em>
</p><p>But it felt <em>right</em>. </p><p>That in itself was enough.</p><p>Dean slid into the front seat, and Cas met his eyes. "So.." Dean didn’t know how to begin. "Uh, maybe I should put up the window shield, it's really bright, with the sun and the flare and—"</p><p>"Dean." Cas reached across and gripped Dean's wrist before he could grab for the nearest distraction.</p><p>"Yeah, okay," Dean rubbed a hand through his hair, exhaling deeply.</p><p>"Cas—You can't tell this to anyone else. Seriously. Just—not yet."</p><p>Cas seemed a little taken aback but nodded softly. "Of course."</p><p>Dean closed his eyes and took another breath, but it felt strangled in his burning throat.</p><p>
  <em>I haven't told anyone this, ever, not even sam, I haven't even said it out loud, but dammit, it's CAS.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can do this.</em>
</p><p>"Lee wasn't just a friend. He was more than that, I guess, he was the guy I could count on to be there, ya know? Sammy had school, and Dad was always gone, so Lee was… good for me."</p><p>Dean could feel Cas's blue eyes watching him closely, carefully. Once he got started, it was easier to keep going.</p><p>"My dad knew that, he knew how close we were but I guess he just—he didn't know everything." Dean laughed bitterly. "Actually, the only thing he <em>really </em>knew about me was the kind of gun I preferred to use on our hunts."</p><p>The heat had reached his face, and he could feel it burning there, settling into his skin like he was standing too close to a fire. Cas was still quiet, and Dean knew if he stopped now, he wouldn’t be able to continue.</p><p>"Anyway. I guess he was pretty surprised when he caught me with a guy. With Lee. Apparently he hadn't even considered the idea; me being interested in—" Dean bit the inside of his cheek, and looked out the window, fiddling with the keys in his lap.</p><p>Cas didn't say anything, but Dean could tell he was listening.</p><p>"We were sixteen. I'd known him for a couple months, and I told him I'd never been to the movies before. Dad was out on a hunt, said he'd be back late at night, and it was a weekend, so I figured he'd be getting wasted.</p><p>"Sam wanted to stay at the motel, and Lee and I went to see a special screening of 'Back to the Future.' First time I'd ever seen it. It was pretty awesome. I think you'd like it, actually." He glanced a look at Cas. So far, so good.</p><p>"When it ended, we got some beers from Lee's truck, and went around to the back of the building."</p><p>
  <em>Stop. Just stop there don't tell him anything else just stop—</em>
</p><p>"I don't know how Dad found us, or why he got back early, or how he knew where to look. I don't blame Sam, if that's what happened. If Dad was ever good at anything, it was getting the truth out of people, me and Sam included." Dean winced as a pain flared in his jaw. He really needed to stop grinding his teeth in situations like these, it didn't help anybody.</p><p>"By the time he caught us, we hadn't done anything more than, ya know. Just—not much."</p><p>Dean could feel his face burning up even more, if that was possible, and he remembered suddenly that he was telling this to a literal angel of the lord. Too late to back out.</p><p>
  <em>It's Cas. It's Cas.</em>
</p><p>"We still had our clothes on and everything but, he…" Dean swallowed, remembering his dad's reaction. "He knew."</p><p>He remembered the moment, absolute terror, when he'd seen his Dad round the corner. He'd been so shocked at first, he almost hadn't recognized him until Lee had stood up and said "Hello sir," and then the scene had set in, and he remembered the beer bottles on the ground, and his Dad's face, and for one, idiotic moment, he thought maybe his Dad was angry about the beer. Maybe he hadn't noticed how mussed their hair was and maybe he didn't look as flushed as he felt, and maybe his Dad wouldn't care anyway.</p><p>The memories of that night at the motel made Dean grit his back teeth again. He could almost feel the bruises, hear the shouting, and his dad had dragged him out of the motel room so the neighbors couldn't hear and the <em>silence </em>in the car as his dad drove, and everything hurt, but he knew it was going to get so much worse.</p><p>They'd driven to a parking lot, and the only thing that kept Dean sane was the thought of his brother's face being bruised by the same fists, and maybe if Dean just shut up and took the pain then Sam wouldn't have to. Course, John never told Sam the real reason for Dean's beating. He'd just always said it was because Dean had left his brother alone. As if he himself hadn't just been away for a week straight, leaving his sons to fend for themselves.</p><p>Dean noticed his hand was shaking slightly, and he waited for Cas to say something. Anything.</p><p>When he finally spoke, his graveled voice was neutral, but Dean could sense a deep anger behind it. "I would ask you how your father reacted, but I think I already know the answer."</p><p>Wetting his lips, Dean risked a glance at the angel. "Yeah. Well. Dad was right about one thing. I made a mistake, it was so stupid and we were drunk, I think, and it probably wasn't real anyway, we were both just such lonely kids and—"</p><p>"Dean. Stop." Cas's voice was firm. Unwavering. "Never let the close-minded ideologies of your father overpower what you know to be the truth. Forgive me for speaking so bluntly, but John Winchester was not exactly an expert in the concept of love. You know this. You were always cleaning up his mistakes as a child."</p><p>Dean's head snapped up and he gave Cas a wary look. "Thought you said you didn't know me back then."</p><p>"I didn't. But…" Cas paused, obviously hesitant to finish his sentence.</p><p>"But <em>what, </em>Cas."</p><p>"It doesn't matter. Just… I've seen a few of your memories. Before."</p><p>"Oh well, thanks for adding a nice layer of creepiness to the moment, Cas, I was getting tired of the chick-flick vibe," Dean grumbled sarcastically.</p><p>It was quiet for a few moments, and Dean frowned, honestly a little confused by the angel's lack of comments. "Ya know, Cas, I kinda imagined you'd have <em>something</em> to say."</p><p>Cas smiled softly, amused at Dean's quickly regenerating snark. "You know I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation, Dean."</p><p>"Oh." Now <em>Dean<em> didn't know what to say. "I guess—I just kinda figured with the whole 'angel of the lord thing,' you might be a little against… ya know."</em></em></p>
<p>
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</p><p>Sighing, Cas peered out the window at a smiling couple walking back towards their car. "Of course I am not against homosexuality. Or any sexuality, for that matter."</p><p>
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</p><p>He turned back around to look at Dean. "It was the humans who decided to interpret love as a sin. Chuck has his… faults. But homophobia is not one of them. Actually, his idea of same-sex attraction was originally invented to stem the issue of over-population. Do you know how many orphans there are currently in the world, Dean?"</p><p>
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</p><p>"Uh—" <em>Was he serious?</em></p><p>
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</p><p>"153 million. Think of all the children who could have two parents and a home, if only queer marriages could be allowed in all countries."</p><p>
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</p><p><em>Wow, okay, he's </em>really <em>serious about this.</em></p><p>
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</p><p>Dean was having difficulty coming up with an adequate response. This time, the quiet was peaceful. Dean looked over at Cas, suddenly grateful. Maybe if more people could be like Cas, the world wouldn't be such a fucking disaster.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Well. Thanks, man, for listening." He meant it. He wanted to say more, but what was the point, when Cas always seemed to understand perfectly.</p><p>
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</p><p>The dark haired angel nodded solemnly, then said, "I think you should tell Sam, however."</p><p>
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</p><p>"Yeah." Dean sighed deeply. "Maybe someday." But even he could hear the procrastination waiting for him in that<em> someday. </em>"I'd prefer to just keep this between you and me for the time being. Just… for right now."</p><p>
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</p><p>"Dean, I am sure that Sam would not judge you. He is a good man, and looks up to you because he knows <em>you </em>to be a good man. Besides," Cas noted in a firm, determined tone, "I have acquired a moderate amount of dirt on your brother throughout the years. I am sure he would not have anything unkind to say to you, when he himself has been keeping secrets of his own."</p><p>
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</p><p>Dean raised his eyebrows at the angel. "Did you actually just threaten to blackmail my brother if he isn't okay with my sexuality?"</p><p>
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</p><p>"No."</p><p>
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</p><p>"Uhuh. You're a terrible liar, Cas," Dean smirked.</p><p>
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</p><p>Cas looked honestly a bit offended. "That is not true. I once deceived and betrayed both you <em>and </em>your brother," he insisted stubbornly.</p><p>
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</p><p>Dean laughed at the angel's expression. "Yeah. <em>Good times." </em></p><p>
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</p><p>He felt like he needed to say something else. Of course he trusted Sam, that wasn't the problem. It was just…"I guess sometimes, a secret's been a secret for so long, it just doesn't seem important anymore, ya know?" Dean shrugged. "No need to dredge up the past."</p><p>
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</p><p>"Your secrets are important to me, Dean, no matter how insignificant you believe them to be," Cas said gently.</p><p>
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</p><p>Swallowing, Dean clenched his keys tighter in his fist. What was he supposed to say to something like that? Luckily, Cas continued speaking.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Can I tell you a secret, Dean, if you promise not to tell another soul?" The angel sounded almost like he was joking.</p><p>
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</p><p>Dean felt an odd moment of Déjà vu, remembering the first time Cas had asked him that. They'd barely known each other, then, but Cas had been perfectly ready to spill his deepest secret to some 'hairless ape.' It was the first time Dean had ever seen Cas smile. The first time they'd sat in peaceful silence together, and although they had been on separate park benches, Dean remembered feeling as if Cas was right there next to him, as if he already knew him. As if they were both just familiar souls, traipsing through a broken world, searching for something <em>right. </em></p><p>
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</p><p>He held up his pinky, and gave Cas his best attempt at a serious expression. "Pinky promise."</p><p>
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</p><p>Cas only frowned, flicking his gaze to Dean's finger, obviously confused. Dean groaned, grabbing Cas's limp hand and hooking the angel's pinky around his own. "K, see <em>this </em>is what humans call a 'pinky promise,' Cas. It's like that weird saying '<em>cross my heart and hope to die.'"</em></p><p>
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</p><p>"Why would I hope to die?"</p><p>
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</p><p>"Oh boy. The point is, Cas, yes of course, I <em>promise."</em></p><p>
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</p><p>Cas was still giving Dean an odd look, but then he said calmly: "I already knew about Lee. About your memories with him. Everything."</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em>WHAT THE HELL—</em>
</p><p>
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</p><p>"I had to," Cas continued, ignoring Dean's reaction. "In order to piece you back together. Memories are perhaps the most vital element to any human's personality and soul."</p><p>
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</p><p>He shifted in his seat, trying to adjust to a more comfortable position, trenchcoat rustling in protest. "Many of your memories had been repressed in order to survive the torments of hell, this one included. It was a painful memory, but it is an important part of who you are, and it belonged to you."</p><p>
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</p><p>Dean couldn't believe Cas could sound so matter-of-fact about this.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Dude. I just spilled my, my <em>feelings, </em>like the main character of a damn rom-com, and you're telling me you already knew??"</p><p>
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</p><p>Cas tilted his head questioningly, as if he couldn't understand what Dean was so upset about. "I apologize. Perhaps I could tell you more about myself, so we can be—" Cas mimed quotation marks "—<em>even,</em> as you say."</p><p>
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</p><p>Dean considered the idea, and he couldn't deny that he was definitely interested. "I don't think I'll ever get to the point of knowing how to 'reconstruct every fiber of your being,'"—</p><p>
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</p><p>"No, that is impossible."</p><p>
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</p><p>"—but, yeah, I'd like that."</p><p>
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</p><p>Dean adjusted his own seat so that he could more comfortably face the angel. "So tell me somethin', Cas. And," he held up an warning finger, "it has to be about you, not me”</p><p>
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</p><p>"Like…" Dean tried to remember one of the many questions he'd been stockpiling for years, all about Cas. "Before you saved me: what was your life like?"</p><p>
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</p><p>Cas let out a small breath, almost a laugh. "Boring."</p><p>
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</p><p>"Nah. I can't believe that. An angel's life? Boring?" Dean prodded Cas's shoulder. "Come on, I just revealed to you my deepest secret, you've gotta have something better than that."</p><p>
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</p><p>Giving him an exasperated glare, Cas retorted "First of all: I already knew your deepest secret. And second: I am not lying, or exaggerating. My life was truly dull. I was a soldier, born to follow blindly the will of heaven."</p><p>
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</p><p>"Yeah, okay, but what was that like? What did you do, did you have a job?" Dean prodded.</p><p>
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</p><p>"I believe I might be killed immediately if I reveal any of those things to you Dean," Cas said, obviously amused at Dean's curiosity.</p><p>
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</p><p>"Okay. Fine. Anything then. I don't know… the <em>deep stuff. </em>Like…" Dean grinned. "What's your favorite color?"</p><p>
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</p><p>Dean could have sworn, then, that Cas's eyes seemed to grow a bit quieter, despite the ridiculous question. "Green," he replied easily, as if he had known the answer for a very long time. "What is yours?"</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em>(Blue, Cas. My favorite color is blue. Like your eyes. Like your damn stupid tie.)</em>
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</p><p>But he couldn't say it. Instead, Dean patted the dashboard of his car. "Black. Black like Baby."</p><p>
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</p><p>Dean rested his head back. "Tell me something <em>else</em>, Cas."</p><p>
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</p><p>"It's nothing happy."</p><p>
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</p><p>"Mine wasn't exactly rainbows and unicorns, either, man." <em>well. Maybe rainbows.</em></p><p>
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</p><p>Cas seemed to consider for a long time, flicking his eyes around the car. He fiddled with the belt on his trenchcoat, then said abruptly, as if finally deciding, "Do you remember when Naomi had me under her control? When I was away for months, away from you and Sam?"</p><p>
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</p><p>Dean nodded. <em>As if he could ever forget.</em></p><p>
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</p><p>"She was training me."</p><p>
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</p><p>"Training you?"</p><p>
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</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>
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</p><p>"To do what?"</p><p>
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</p><p>Cas hesitated only for a moment. "Kill you."</p><p>
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</p><p><em>Well, he wasn't kidding when he said this wouldn't be happy, </em>Dean thought. He tried to meet Cas's eyes, but the angel kept looking down at his lap, fidgeting with the strip of cloth in his hands, as if it were the only thing keeping him sane, keeping him solid. Dean recognized the action well.</p><p>
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</p><p>"She… she had replicas of you, made specifically for the purpose of my lessons. I had to practice killing you, Dean. Again, and <em>again, and again. </em>And I know—"</p><p>
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</p><p>
  <em>(—23 calls him 'Cas,' and the angel blade clatters to the ground from numb fingers. Naomi had to kill that one herself, and it took three other angels to hold Castiel back—)</em>
</p><p>
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    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Cas took a shaking breath. "—I know they were not <em>you, </em>but they seemed real."</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p><em>"</em>How many, Cas." Dean dreaded the answer, knowing it would become yet another bullet-point on the long list of things weighing on his conscience.</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>"The first 36 of them had to be killed by Naomi," Cas continued, speaking hastily as if that would make it easier. "She slaughtered them brutally, and made me watch, until I learned it would be better to try to kill them quickly without objection. Of course it wasn't that simple. She made you say things…. Do things. Just to make it worse."</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(—108 kisses him, hard and rough and possessive, and Cas disappears. Naomi finds him a few hours later hiding in a corner of the warehouse, muttering quantum physics laws under his breath—)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Dean guessed that Cas wouldn't tell him what those <em>things </em>were exactly. He wasn't sure he even <em>wanted </em>to know.</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>"I remember… every single one of you, Dean. Every word. Every—"</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(—332 kisses him again, but this time it's soft and gentle and pleading and Cas stabs him in the heart, hissing 'Not Dean'—)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Cas's chest flared, the sentence left hanging.</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(—491 calls him brother. Cas cuts him down with a sob and cries over the corpse for forty-seven minutes—)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>"There were times I felt I was going insane. Times I wondered if it would be better to just turn the blade on myself, instead."</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(—665 lets Cas sink the blade into his left lung with a sadistic smile, steps into the puncturing pressure and whispers in Castiel's ear: 'you were always a weapon.' Naomi has to call the angels back to stop Castiel from sinking the bloody blade into his own heart after that—)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>"But they stopped me. Of course."</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(—804 grins around a mouthful of blood and chokes, 'I never cared about you,'—)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>"You pleaded. You shouted. You told me lies, that I tried to ignore, but there are days, sometimes, when I can still hear them, days when I wonder if there may have been a bit of truth to them.</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(—887 spits, 'You don't even have a soul,'—)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>"The things you said, the things I heard you say to me—" Cas's voice broke, weak and low, and Dean could see the angel's hand shaking.</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(—901 snarls that angels aren't capable of real love'—)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>"Cas, I don't need you to relive this for me. I know what it's like—"</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>"<em>No, </em>Dean. You don’t." Cas met his eyes, and Dean was shaken to see how very dead the angel looked. When he spoke, it came out in graveled rasps, but Dean recognized the determination behind each sentence. Cas needed this.</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>"By number 900—"</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>"<em>900</em>?—" Dean hissed, and he almost pounded his fist into the steering wheel, but the look on Cas's face stopped him.</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>"By 900, I could do it without argument. Mercy killings, mostly.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(—983 finally breaks him. He looks up at Cas with cold beautiful green eyes and whispers, 'I wish you'd left me in Hell'—)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>"By 1000, I was stabbing you without hesitation."</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(—984 cut down in a vicious and sloppy melee, 987 cries out but Cas doesn't bat an eyelash—)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>"I knew they were not you. But it is something I don't think I will ever be able to forgive myself for, nonetheless."</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(—993 doesn't even see Castiel approach, 998 begs but Castiel moves with ruthless precision and speed, 1002 crumples against the linoleum—)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>"My only redemption is that I did not kill the real you when the time came. You were different than all the rest. Somehow, Naomi could not recreate you in the way I know you."</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(—1003 falls to his knees, face bloodied and bruised, but he looks up at Cas as if there's still hope. The 'I need you,' is what finally reaches through to the angel, and Cas drops the weapon and wonders if this time it's real—)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>Cas blinked out the memory, and looked up to see the same Dean, the real Dean staring at him.</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“Cas,” Dean choked out, but there were no words. <em>So much for making him smile</em>.</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>“I’m so sorry.”</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p><p>There was nothing else to say, and they both knew it. The silence felt too loud to fill with words.</p><p>
  <em>
    <em></em>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. You Still Don't Know What I Never Said</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>FINALLY! Got a bit of writer's block for a while there, but I'm BACK biTCHES! (I think this fic is going to be longer than 30 chapters)</p><p>Thank you all for your wonderful, thoughtful, motivating comments and kudos. Seriously: you guys have made me smile so many times, and your comments mean more to me than you'll ever know.</p><p>This one was GOING to be funny... and then I went and made it painful. Sorry, not sorry. Heh.</p><p>ALSO: can we all agree than John Winchester fucking sucks? Seriously, I didn't even have to make up most of this shit. </p><p>I hope you all enjoy it ♥♥♥♥♥♥</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TRIGGER WARNING:</p><p>Blatant homophobia<br/>Homophobic slurs <br/>Vulgar homophobic terminology </p><p>(Idk how to write warnings. I hope this gets the point across ahah.... you can blame John Winchester)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It didn't take much convincing for Charlie to drop everything and hit the road. Luckily, she'd been attending a comic-con only a few hours away from the bunker, and as soon as Sam mentioned 'Dean and Cas,' that was all she needed to hear.</p><p>Sam, however, didn't hear much for the rest of the day, thanks to Charlie's high-pitched shriek over the phone when he revealed the plan.</p><p>"UGH SAM I'M SO HAPPY. You have NO idea how hard it's been keeping Destiel to myself all this time I mean I read the books forever ago and then I read <em>way</em> too many fanfics on the archive and it's just so <em>obvious </em>ya know, but of course I never would have brought it up cause we all know Dean isn't the <em>feelings </em>type of dude but YOU FINALLY FIGURED IT OUT and now I can talk to you about it which is <em>so </em>much better than just fangirling with all my online Hellers and aren't they just <em>the best ship you've ever seen </em>I mean they're definitely my OTP even over HanLeia and—"</p><p>Sam felt bad ending the call in the middle of her happy chattering but he honestly hadn't understood most of what she'd been saying. Also, his eardrum did <em>not </em>feel great.</p><p>And if Charlie was referring to what he <em>thought </em>she was referring to…</p><p> Sam groaned. The Supernatural books had ended with Dean going to Hell. Castiel the angel hadn't even been <em>mentioned </em>yet. So if Charlie had been reading about Cas…. that meant Chuck had published more books before he 'came out' as the literal God.</p><p>On the other hand… if Charlie had been able to figure out Dean and Cas's obvious chemistry by reading 'Carver Edlund's' not-so-popular book series depicting their lives, then maybe he <em>wouldn't </em>have to dig through Dean's things to find evidence.</p><p>Maybe the evidence was already written out for him.</p><p>----------------------------------------</p><p>Even though Sam's curiosity levels were an all-time high, he'd decided to wait until Charlie arrived before digging into the evidence. Or at least… most of it. He did want to be a little less of a novice in the <em>term</em> department when they had their first real conversation: including knowing exactly what an <em>OTP </em>was, and why she had been talking about 'ships.'</p><p>Fanfic, of course, was at the peak of his interest, but Sam thought he'd better wait until the expert arrived before falling into anything too dangerous. He knew better than most that there was no limit to the number of nuts a person could have stuffed in their skull, especially on the internet, and the idea of reading steamy scenes written by crazy strangers could definitely categorize as hazardous for his mental health. He got enough info on Dean's personal sex-life as it was, and he did <em>not </em>need to throw Cas into the mix.</p><p>So Sam made a smoothie, cleaned the bunker, and settled down with his laptop for some non-sexy, totally non-weird research. Actually, if he was being honest with himself, his search engine had endured much weirder.</p><p>It wasn't long before he stumbled across mentions of something called… <em>AO3?</em></p><p>Actually, a lot of people had mentioned it. <em>Huh. </em>Sam typed the word into his browser, and was immediately greeted by a website called "Archive of Our Own."</p><p>
  <em>Must be the archive Charlie was talking about. </em>
</p><p>"Sam! Open up!" There was a sudden onslaught of frantic pounding on the bunker door, accompanied by excited bursts of shouting, and he knew it was Charlie.</p><p><em>Good, </em>Sam thought as he went to unlock the bolt. He had a lot of questions.</p><p>"<em>What's UP, BITCHES!" </em>Charlie flung her bags to the ground and grabbed him in a fierce hug, the top of her red head barely scraping the underside of his chin, and Sam smiled, returning the hug with warmth. Charlie was the type of person you could never get tired of being with.</p><p>She was also very impatient. "Sam it's <em>so </em>good to see you," she pulled away from the hug and picked up her bags, already starting energetically down the stairs and clamoring all the way. "I realized after our call that I probably shouldn't have mentioned fanfiction or Chuck's books before I saw you in person cause who <em>knew</em> what you would look up, I mean—" she swung herself onto the map-table, feet dangling over the edge. "—you're just starting with all this Destiel stuff and I've been at it ever since I read the first book with Cas in it and I mean there's some <em>pre-tty </em>weird stuff that people have written about them, pretty <em>awesome</em> stuff too, but I just—"</p><p>"Whoa." Sam grabbed a seat at the table, already overwhelmed. "Just slow down, Charlie. Cas and Dean aren't going to be back for a while, I told them I had a lot of research to do, so we've got plenty of time to talk."</p><p>She grinned, and shrugged happily. "Right, sorry. I just get so excited. They both deserve happiness, ya know, and also their ship name is so perfect—"</p><p>Sam held up a hand. "That's another thing. I did some research—"</p><p>Charlie clapped a hand to her mouth. "<em>OH</em> no, I'm so sorry I knew I should have—"</p><p>"No, Charlie—" Sam smiled, amused at her horrified expression. "It's fine, I didn’t dig too deep. But I was confused about one thing, because some people call them 'Destiel,' and some call them 'CasDean,' or 'DeanCas,' so—"</p><p>"Which one is it?" Charlie interrupted. "I think it's just up to preference, but Destiel is kinda the <em>official </em>ship name. At least, that's what <em>I </em>prefer," she shrugged.</p><p>"Huh."</p><p>
  <em>Man this is weird. </em>
</p><p>"So—" Charlie checked her wrist watch. "It's about dinner time, whaddya say I go get us some pizza and we can settle down for a night of research!" Sam almost laughed when she waggled her eyebrows at him.</p><p>"Yeah, actually that sounds great Charlie—" Sam felt a vibration in his pocket, and pulled out his phone to find Dean's name glowing on the screen.</p><p>
  <em>Crap.</em>
</p><p>He answered it, because what else could he do? "Dean? Everything okay?"</p><p><em>"I'll go get us some food," </em>Charlie mouthed at him, and Sam gave her a thumbs up in response.</p><p>Dean coughed on the other end, and Sam frowned. "Dean?"</p><p>"yeah, sorry, I'm here."</p><p>"You.. Okay?"</p><p>"What? Yeah, sure, I'm fine—Cas and I were just wondering how it's going. Y'know. With the vamp research."</p><p><em>Oh man. The VAMP research. </em>He'd totally forgotten about that.</p><p>"Oh, uh—yeah. It's going fine. Finding the book took a little longer than I thought."</p><p>"Uhuh." Sam could hear the suspicion in Dean's voice.</p><p>There was static for a moment, until Dean spoke impatiently. "<em>So?"</em></p><p>"So… what?" Playing dumb may not be the most <em>flattering </em>tactic, or the most believable, but it was all he had. Plus, it helped stall for time.</p><p>"Man, what's up with you lately? You're never this squirrely."</p><p>"What?" This time Sam actually was a little confused.</p><p>"Oh come on, Sam, you've been acting really weird lately, with the damn sigil, and the, the <em>questions, </em>and then this whole book thing—"</p><p>"Dean I told you, it's just research. We didn't have the info I needed, the bunker did, so—"</p><p>"Fine, man. Whatever."</p><p>Sam listened nervously to the sound of Dean's breathing. He really wished he'd had the foresight to come up with a better cover story.</p><p>"Cas is waiting. I should go." The call ended with a static click.</p><p>Sighing deeply, Sam hoped his brother would forgive him when this was all over.</p><p>
  <em>It's for your own good, Dean.</em>
</p><p>--------------------------------------------------</p><p>Dean shook his head, stuffing his phone back into his jacket pocket. If Sam wanted to keep secrets, to hell with it. Dean had his own secrets after all.</p><p>Not that that stopped him from wanting to know what his brother was up to… but he'd had enough experience dealing with Sam's lies to know that when Sam wanted to keep a secret, no amount of prodding on his part would get the truth out.</p><p><em>"</em>Dammit, Sam," Dean muttered.</p><p>He walked back over to the car, and slid into the front seat. Cas gave him a questioning look.</p><p>"Well," Dean shrugged, "looks like we got some more time. Sam hasn't finished with 'research' yet, apparently he couldn't find the book. So much for 'remembering exactly where it is.'"</p><p>Cas nodded thoughtfully. "If you wish, I could take us to the bunker, and we can assist Sam with the research."</p><p>It was obvious the offer was genuine, but Dean thought he could hear a hint of reluctance behind the words, as if Cas had been enjoying their alone-time as much as he had.</p><p>"Nah. You know Sam. We'd just get in the way."</p><p>Dean was almost surprised at how content he felt. It was the closest he'd ever felt to peace. Cas was here, and there was nothing to kill, nothing to run from; it was an unfamiliar feeling, having <em>time. </em></p><p>Usually, when Dean had 'free-time,' it was only because they'd reached a point in their lives when everything was going to shit anyway. Sam would spend his remaining hours squeezing their last chance until it squealed. Cas was usually MIA. Or dead.</p><p>Free-time had never been a good thing to Dean before. It had always meant reaching 'the end,' the big bad deadline, and knowing it was too late to keep all the promises he'd made, and far too late to make good on all those secret hopes, experiences, that he'd put off for another day. It meant drinking himself to sleep at 4 in the morning because he woke up alone, twisting in his own cold sweat. It meant taking every chance he could to rip out the last of his anger, and he did: God, did he ever. When he wasn't drunk on the pain, he was dishing it out to everyone who was still alive, who still had the guts to be around him.</p><p>Free-time meant <em>remembering. </em>Making a mental list of all the friends he'd ever killed, and an even longer list of all the memories he'd spent years trying to repress. It meant regretting all the times he'd cursed Sammy's name, calling him a monster, a <em>freak. </em>It meant crossing out all the good things that had ever happened to him because his life had become such a nightmare that even the 'good memories' seemed suspicious and tainted.</p><p>It meant lying in bed, in the dark, eyes turned unblinkingly to the chair in the corner, and wishing he'd asked Cas to stay, just one more time. Wishing he'd asked him something else, too.</p><p>"Dean?"</p><p>Cas was squinting at him worriedly, hands placed neatly on each of his thighs, back a perfectly straight line.</p><p>
  <em>Angels. Always so prim.</em>
</p><p>Dean realized they hadn't decided on any further plans for the evening. There were so many things he wanted Cas to experience. So many things he wanted to <em>see </em>Cas experience. But first things first.</p><p>Dean found the right key, and turned the ignition. "You know what? No time like the present." He shifted gears and reversed out of the parking lot, heading onto the golden-lit road.</p><p>"Where are we going?"</p><p>"Blockbuster."</p><p>Dean was looking behind him, but he could picture Cas's expression perfectly.</p><p>"What is a block buster?"</p><p><em>Yep. Called it. </em>Dean smirked. "It's like a movie shop, Cas. You can rent movies for cheap."</p><p>"Oh." Cas sounded interested.</p><p>“I’m tired of preaching all my iconic lines to a wall. How do you feel about a movie night?” Dean flashed what could be considered as a flirtatious smile, if Cas wasn’t just a friend.</p><p>“That sounds wonderful, Dean.”</p><p>Dean nodded, satisfied with their new plans, and pulled out onto the road, gaining speed. The sunset flared hot rays of light onto Cas's face, eyes once blue now fractured golden pools, mussed dark hair glowing around the edge as if it were on fire. Dean couldn't help glancing over every once in a while, but Cas's head remained turned towards the front window, watching contentedly as the fields and buildings blurred by, one corner of his lips lifted in a sort of quiet happiness.</p><p>Dean could get used to <em>this </em>kind of free time.</p><p>-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>It wasn't long before Charlie returned with their food—and a plan. She'd obviously spent the drive thinking it over, and making a mental list in her head, which was good, because Sam had no idea where to start. Finding Dean's secret note-stash had been a daunting task on its own, but now that he knew about Chuck's books…so much to do, and so little time.</p><p>And of course, there was the vamp research. He'd gotten a decent amount of info off the internet and John's journal already, but there were a few things he still needed to look into.</p><p>Charlie took a bite from her slice of pizza, then grabbing a napkin and a nearby pen, began to scribble out a rough schedule. "Okay, so, when do Cas and Dean expect you back by?"</p><p>Sam considered his answer. Neither of them <em>knew </em>that he had already conducted quite a bit of research. That bought him a couple hours…. Which he'd already spent. However, they also thought he'd been searching for the book. All in all, Sam figured that with a couple more excuses, and another sleepless night….</p><p>"Noon, tomorrow. Latest. By then, even <em>Cas </em>might be getting suspicious. I can call them again, tell Dean I want to sleep here for the night—"</p><p>"But we won't <em>be </em>sleeping." Charlie finished, mischievously, and Sam smiled at her excitement.</p><p>"Right."</p><p>Charlie jotted down the time frame, and sighed. "So that means we have about seventeen hours for me to find Dean's notes, while you read up on Chuck's new books, plus <em>you </em>may be able to get by with no shut-eye, but I'm going to need at least a couple of hours. We also need to research—vamps? Right?" Sam nodded, and she continued writing down their to-do list. "—and most importantly, the <em>plan.</em>"</p><p>Sam frowned. "the—plan? I thought this was the plan."</p><p>Charlie rolled her eyes. "First we have to figure out if this is real. How far along Dean is with his, ya know, <em>feelings. </em>The guy kinda sucks at expressing himself, so we'll have to see just how much he's actually come to terms with, and how much he's still… ignoring."</p><p>"But—" she reached over, stealing the laptop, and ignoring Sam's protests, began typing something in the search bar. "—once we've done that, we still have to figure out a way to show Cas how Dean really feels, and vice-versa. It can't be too obvious, and it can't be too embarrassing, cause we all know Dean doesn't do well with awkward situations."</p><p>Sam began massaging his forehead. He could feel another headache coming on. "I already tried setting them up. I really don't want to do that again."</p><p>Charlie looked up from the laptop. "You did? What happened?"</p><p>"Okay, just—don't laugh."</p><p>"Scout's Honor." Charlie held up a hand, giving Sam a look of mock-seriousness, and Sam explained how he'd asked Rowena for a very specific sigil-incantation that could trap both a human and an angel, how Dean and Cas had walked right into it, how he'd tried asking them point-blank, and then how Cas had stopped the entire thing because he was called away to heaven.</p><p>To her credit, Charlie managed to hold in her laughter. For eight whole seconds.</p><p>"<em>OH SAM, </em>you <em>didn't—no—" </em>she bent over the map table, head buried in her arms, shaking with laughter. "<em>oh man, </em> you <em>did—"</em></p><p><em>Well it isn't THAT funny, </em>Sam thought, as Charlie's mirthful laughs slowed to breathless wheezing. Not that he minded so much. It had been a long time since he'd seen anyone laugh that hard.</p><p>"<em>ugh, </em>Sam, I wish I could have seen it—<em>wait—</em>wait." Charlie took a deep, shaking breath, and sat up, wiping away the tears. "How did Dean react?"</p><p>Sam glared. "Not great. I think I'm <em>still </em>on his bad side."</p><p>"Well, duh," Charlie snorted. "Pulling a stunt like that? On <em>Dean? </em>You're lucky he didn't kill you."</p><p>"Okay, then, Goddess of Wisdom, how would <em>you </em>do it?" Sam retorted, feeling rather defensive, even though he knew she was right. Charlie was always right. It happened to be both her best, and most frustrating quality.</p><p>"Well, I’m so glad you asked." Charlie smiled: a boastful, yet endearing look that meant, once again, she had found a solution. She turned the laptop screen towards Sam, displaying the homepage of a website called Tumblr, where he could read a short list titled "Favorite Fanfiction Tropes &amp; Headcanons."</p><p>Charlie waited as Sam read through the list, his eyebrows climbing higher with each sentence. "And you really think <em>these </em>will work, Charlie?"</p><p>She scoffed, and raised an eyebrow. "I <em>know </em>these will work. Trust me. I've read a <em>lot </em>of fanfiction, and most fanfiction-Deans suffer from the same anti-conversation problems as the <em>REAL </em>Dean." She slid the laptop back over to her side, and began rapidly typing up a new item on the list. "fictional or real: Dean would rather take a bullet in his shoulder than talk about his emotions. That's why your plan backfired so horribly."</p><p>"Yeah, thanks for continuing to remind me," Sam grumbled, but Charlie didn't seem to hear him.</p><p>She stopped typing, lost in thought. "Dean has <em>shown </em>his feelings on multiple occasions, but as soon as someone tries to <em>talk </em>to him about it… he denies everything." She frowned so seriously, Sam could have imagined she was working a deadly case, instead of trying to parent-trap his brother and their best friend.</p><p>
  <em>Could this day get any weirder.</em>
</p><p>Suddenly, Charlie looked up, all sense of excitement drained from her eyes. "Sam."</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>Sam could've sworn she looked almost sad, hesitating carefully before speaking. "Was your father.." she winced, biting her lip, and he could tell she was reconsidering her question. "Would he have been—against homosexuality? In any way? You know, did he ever say something? Or do something, maybe?" Her eyes widened. "Sam—has Dean ever been in a male relationship before?"</p><p>Sam shook his head slowly, then—</p><p>
  <em>Oh crap.</em>
</p><p>That night at the motel. The movie. Lee. Their father.</p><p>Dean had never told him, hell, he'd never even <em>spoken </em>about that night, not after what happened. But Sam had been around John Winchester long enough to know when the man was lying through his teeth. And even better, Sam knew when his <em>brother </em>was lying.</p><p>They'd both lied to him that night, but Sam knew. He'd known a while ago. It only took one hunt with Dean and Lee to see that there was something else going on. The way they looked at each other, private glances, coveted moments of contact that were entirely unnecessary. So Sam wondered for a while, but Dean never mentioned anything, and he'd almost decided to let the theory go, almost dismissed the idea. He must have just misread the situation. A simple misunderstanding, that's all.</p><p>But then Dean had fallen into the motel room, his bloody nose looking almost black in the dim light of the motel, and for a moment, Sam thought maybe Lee had done it. Dean smelled of beer, and Lee was almost as hot-headed as Dean, it wasn't exactly a stretch to assume they'd gotten in a fight.</p><p>And then John had stormed in, and Sam remembered the look on Dean's face, the horrible fear, the kind of fear he never thought he'd see in his older brother's eyes. Even in the low light, he remembered seeing Dean's shaking hands, a bloody smear stretching across the length of one finger, matching perfectly the smear on his terrified face.</p><p>And Sam knew, for whatever reason: this fight was different. Dean and John had gotten in plenty of arguments before, and Dean had endured far more beatings than Sam wanted to remember.</p><p>But never had Sam seen his brother look so very scared.</p><p>
  <em>Scared of his own father.</em>
</p><p>And then Sam heard his father say those words, those vulgar <em>words, </em>and Sam knew he'd become <em>old </em>before he could forget them.</p><p>
  <em>"I WILL NOT HAVE SOME FAG FOR A SON, DEAN."</em>
</p><p>Sam had been so shocked, the air left his lungs, and it took John a few seconds of shouting before he'd even noticed his other son, sitting limply in the corner of the motel, homework forgotten. And John had dragged Dean out the door, but not before Sam saw.</p><p>
  <em>Shame.</em>
</p><p>It was written across every inch of Dean's expression.</p><p>
  <em>Humiliation.</em>
</p><p>It hurt to see it, but the static silence of the room after John had pulled out of the parking lot and left with Dean; the nothingness, the <em>lack of: </em>it hurt even more than the shouting, because at least then, Sam could have said something, could have protected Dean like Dean had always protected him.</p><p>Sam had sat in empty quiet for over forty-five minutes before he heard the car again. <em>Forty five minutes. </em></p><p>Dean had stumbled through the door, rushing to the bathroom, holding one hand over his face, and one pressed to his side, but Sam could see the damage anyway.</p><p>Burning with fury, he'd asked his father why. Just to see what he could say. <em>"He left you alone," </em>John had shrugged, as if it were obvious. As if Dean deserved…</p><p>
  <em>that. </em>
</p><p>Not long after, John had sent Dean on his first solo mission. January 24th, Dean's 17th birthday. Dean hadn't asked for anything, their father wasn't big on birthdays. Or any holiday, for that matter. Avenging Mary's death was more important.</p><p>Sam remembered giving Dean a simple card, and a small gift he'd managed to buy using money from hustling pool, but John had let the day pass just like any other.</p><p>Ever since the night at the motel, John had been looking at Dean differently. A subtle change that Sam couldn't quite put his finger on, but could feel nonetheless. He kept his head down. Better to pretend he didn't know. Better to leave it alone.</p><p>Dean had gone shooting around noon, just target practice, and then cooked up a pot of cheap macaroni. Lunch had been quiet. Their father was there, after all.</p><p>Then, suddenly, John had thrown a newspaper on the table. A case. But this time, Dean would be going alone. <em>Your birthday present, </em>John had said.</p><p>A Winchester birthday.</p><p>Sam had almost thought of asking to go with Dean, but something about the hard glint in John's eyes had stopped him. This was meant for Dean only, and the thought scared Sam. He could still remember how bloody and broken his brother had looked on that night only months ago, and how cold his father had been… as if he hadn't cared. As if beating his son within an inch of his life hadn't bothered him one bit.</p><p>And now the same man was throwing Dean at a case. Alone, for the first time.</p><p>So while Dean packed his gear, Sam sneaked a look at the clipping. He was barely a couple sentences in when his stomach dropped.</p><p>Two nuns were terrorizing a local church.</p><p>Two nuns who had been in love with each other, and discovered by the townspeople, had killed themselves: bled out beside one another in the convent's cemetery, curled together beneath the statue of St. Stephen.</p><p>It wasn't a case. It was punishment, of the cruelest kind. The kind that said "<em>see here Dean? See what you are? See what I will do to you if you love the wrong people? See what happens to </em>faggots <em>like you?"</em></p><p>John had tried to spend the day with Sam. Talking. Shooting. Pool games. Of course, he was furious when Sam didn't speak a single word the entire time, and Sam had taken the beating at the end of the day, but it was the first time he didn't feel the punches. Didn't mind the bruises. Because Dean was going through much worse.</p><p>"Sam? <em>Sam</em>? Are you okay?"</p><p>
  <em>Charlie.</em>
</p><p>Sam swallowed. "Yeah…"</p><p>He managed to look up at Charlie, the ache burying deeper in his lungs. "I think our father <em>does</em> have something to do with this, actually."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Where Were You When I Needed To Hear It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Um. I promise this was GOING to be a fluff chapter. </p><p>So that didn't happen...</p><p>How 'bout some more angst. Heh. Hopefully some fluff in the next chapter. Movie night with Dean and Cas, so the probability of fluff is VERY high :)</p><p>I hope you enjoy it anyway, and leave a comment! Even if your comment consists of jibberish-fangirl-keyboard-bashing, cause honestly, I CAN RELATE TO THAT SHIT.</p><p>Love ya'll. I hope you're doing well.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Luckily, the nearest Blockbuster had been closer to the motel than Dean had expected, and so the drive only took about 15 minutes. But he knew he'd remember every second of it.</p><p>Neither of them had spoken a word, but the lack of conversation hadn't caused discomfort as it so often did. They'd said so much to each other in the past few hours, that the silence felt more like an emphasis on their time together, a shared knowledge that they were comfortable simply taking in the sound of Baby's wheels riding the road, the faint, indecipherable lyrics of Led Zeppelin's Best playing from Cas's mix tape, and knowing that they still had time to spend.</p><p>Dean couldn't stop sneaking glances at Cas's sun-lit profile, and he knew he'd remember forever the way the angel looked, with his trenchcoat tucked neatly in front of him. The way he was centered against the glowing glass pane, eyes relaxed, flickering quietly across the world as it blurred by, drifting in the haze of golden hour.</p><p>But that wasn't why Dean would remember it. It happened so quickly, when Cas caught him looking over, when he smiled so softly, and Dean felt an involuntary smile tug at his own lips, and Cas didn't look away, just gazed at him, and even when Dean faced the front, he could still <em>feel </em>Cas's eyes just as clearly as he felt his heart flutter and his ears redden because dammit, it had happened, and he couldn't <em>un-feel </em>it.</p><p>Because he knew what it felt like now. This is what it would be like.</p><p>
  <em>To be with Cas.</em>
</p><p><em>No, </em>Dean corrected himself. <em>You can't have that. </em></p><p><em>You'll just hurt him. Stay away. Besides. It's wrong. That's wrong—I WON'T HAVE A FAG FOR A SON, DEAN—I can't have that with Cas, I'd only—YOU'RE NOT BUILT FOR </em>LOVE<em>, SON, YOU'RE BUILT TO BE A HUNTER—ruin it.</em></p><p>They had pulled into the parking lot, Dean's thoughts still screaming.</p><p>Cas took out the mix-tape, and gently tucked it within the folds of his trenchcoat. Such a small action, but Dean's consciousness broke the surface as he watched, the seconds slowed, and he realized he was staring at Cas.</p><p>Cas was about to open his door, but noticing Dean's behavior, hesitated, tilting his head curiously. "Dean? What is it?"</p><p>Dean shook his head slowly. He didn't know. He just felt suddenly as if he never wanted to listen to any other mixtape ever again except <em>theirs, </em>because that's what it was, it was his and Cas's, and he felt as if Led Zeppelin was better than he'd ever remembered. As if he never wanted to step out into the air, just wanted to stay there with Cas sitting shotgun, just <em>watching. Lingering.</em></p><p>"Y'know, Cas—" Dean stammered out,</p><p>
  <em>(say SOMETHING)</em>
</p><p>"—you don't have to put that mixtape in your pocket, you could just leave it in the car, if you wanted, I mean."</p><p>
  <em>(really? That's what you say?)</em>
</p><p>"Oh." Cas's eyes flickered down to his coat, and he rubbed his neck sheepishly. "I know, I just—I prefer to keep it with me. If anyone happened to break into your car, I wouldn't want it stolen."</p><p>Dean snorted. "Trust me buddy, if someone broke into Baby, they wouldn't be looking to steal a Zeppelin mixtape. They'd be trying to steal the whole <em>car.</em>"</p><p>"And I suppose you would kill them either way," Cas added dryly.</p><p>Smirking, Dean clapped Cas on the shoulder. "Damn right. Besides, tapes like that aren't exactly rare treasure. Zeppelin was around when my parents were first dating. Practically the whole reason they got together in the first place. Apparently, Dad used to sing a lot, before—" Dean felt his jaw clamp, and he took a sharp breath.</p><p>"He tried to impress her by learning all the words to her favorite Zeppelin songs. Mom was always telling the story. I think it made her feel better, when he was away."</p><p>If anything, the memory made his ache worse, but it felt distant. Using time as a remedy was like putting a band-aid on a bullet hole. It didn't really work for anything except to cover up evidence of the damage, at least for a little while, until the memories seeped through again and a new band-aid had to be applied. And then another. Another band-aid. Another year. Until the only thing left to remind you of that bullet hole's existence is the rotting layer of bandages that you can't help but scratch every once in a while. And then you remember why they're there in the first place, and you scratch until it hurts, and you apply another layer, and you try to forget. Until the next inevitable itch.</p><p>Dean gestured at Cas's pocket. "A lot of her favorite songs are on that mixtape, you know."</p><p>Cas brought out the tape again, tracing the handwritten label:</p>
<h2>Dean's Top 13</h2><h2>Zepp Tra XX</h2><p>Dean remembered making it for Cas. It had been a long while ago, but he still remembered how nervous he'd been. Dean knew what it meant, what it implied, and he'd hoped Cas would understand the reference, just that once. He hadn't, of course.</p><p>Then again, how <em>could</em> a literal <em>angel of the lord</em> understand the significance hidden in the simple gift of a personalized mixtape? It was just music. Just words. Cas probably expected frickin gold-nuggets, or baskets of ambrosia. Whatever that was.</p><p>The first week passed, and another. Cas didn't mention the gift in all that time, and for Dean it was agonizing, wondering if it hadn't been obvious enough, wondering if he'd messed up, overstepped, made a mistake.</p><p>Then again, maybe Cas just hadn't understood the real meaning. Maybe gifting a personalized mixtape of 13 <em>LOVE </em>songs, songs that your parents had <em>bonded over, </em>fallen in <em>love </em>over…. Maybe it had only been too little, too late.</p><p>Hell, Cas had almost tried to give it <em>back </em>to Dean.</p><p><em>"It's a gift. You keep those," </em>Dean had tried to explain. But he knew then: Cas hadn't gotten the point. The damn point had flown right over his feathered head.</p><p> It <em>was </em>a gift, and besides the keys to Baby, the best Dean could give.</p><p>Dean Winchester had never been good with words, but that's what music was for. It meant more to Dean than most other things. Hell, he'd never even given <em>Lisa </em>a mixtape. Back in his school days, professing your interest in someone truly was as simple as making them a collection of your favorite songs.</p><p>Dean had never loved anyone enough to do it himself, but he'd always wondered what it would be like, giving a real gift to someone truly important. He'd spent more hours than he cared to admit making lists of all the songs he'd put on a mixtape if he ever got lucky enough to find that someone.</p><p><em>Well, it all becomes a bit more complicated when that </em>someone<em> doesn't understand basic social constructs</em>, Dean thought bitterly.</p><p>"I never knew that, Dean," Cas tucked the tape back inside his chest pocket. "You don't talk about your parents much."</p><p>"Yeah. Well." Dean let out a small breath, almost a laugh if it hadn't felt so resentful. So strained. "I want you to know, Cas, I didn't give them to you because they're my parent's favorite songs. I gave them to you because—"</p><p>
  <em>Just say it, dammit. Just say you love him, it's not so hard, he's done it before, just say it—</em>
</p><p>"—well, because those songs and I have been through a lot together." He tried desperately to meet Cas's eyes, maybe Cas would know what he meant, maybe he wouldn't have to suffocate himself with pathetically inferior <em>words.</em></p><p>It seemed Cas knew everything else about him, so <em>why couldn't he just know this one thing, the most important thing, why couldn't HE SEE IT.</em></p><p>"…kinda like you and me."</p><p>"Dean," Cas touched his shoulder. "Thank you. I know how much these songs mean to you."</p><p>Dean felt the touch, almost leaning into it, craving it, craving <em>more. </em>But Cas let go far to soon. "That is why they are now my favorite songs to listen to. I've been listening to this tape ever since you gave it to me, and I don't think I will ever grow tired of it," Cas admitted fondly.</p><p>
  <em>(Then why didn't you say anything, man, why did you make me wonder—)</em>
</p><p>"I'm sorry if I did not respond in the appropriate manner," Cas said, as if once again, reading Dean's thoughts. "This gift—it is the first one I have ever received." Cas stared down at his hands, as if his confession was something to be ashamed about. "I did not <em>know </em>how to respond, I—"</p><p>
  <em>His FIRST gift??</em>
</p><p>"Whoa, Cas, hey—" Dean didn't know what to say. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, man, it's just a gift."</p><p>Cas met his eyes. "Regardless, I want you to know that it meant a lot to me. It still does."</p><p>Swallowing, Dean nodded. "Good, I—I'm glad. But uh—" He patted Cas on the shoulder before opening his car door. "You need to invest in better friends. Your <em>first</em> gift? I mean," Dean slid out of the seat and slammed the door shut with a creak; Cas followed suit, joining him at the front of the hood.</p><p>"I thought someone woulda tried to buy you a new outfit by now, at the very least. Your angel buddies must be tired of seeing that old thing," He gestured dramatically at Cas's trenchcoat.</p><p>Cas smiled, eyes glancing down at the coat. "I am glad they did not, because I would have been forced to decline their offer." He smoothed down one sleeve fondly. "After all. This coat and I have been through a lot together."</p><p>Cas turned and walked towards the entrance, but Dean could've sworn he saw the angel wink.</p><p>-------------------------------------------------------</p><p>The bell above the entrance jangled as Cas pushed open the door to the video rental shop, and the sound sent a jolt through his stomach. It was all too familiar. The dim fluorescent lighting. The cheap tiled floor. The small square room, with the glass doors, and worst of all, the bell. An employee standing at the counter to his left greeted the newcomers with a vaguely bored, and obviously well-memorized, salutation. He was wearing a blue vest, with a lopsided name-tag pinned to the front, reading <em>'Stevie.'</em></p><p>Cas wondered if this was all some cruel, cosmic joke. "Heh," Dean chuckled in his ear. "Remind you of anything, <em>Steve?"</em></p><p>Cas knew Dean wasn't meaning to be hurtful. Their individual memories of Roxford were… somewhat different. He earnestly hoped Dean would never know his side of the story, how close he'd come to—</p><p>No.</p><p>Those memories were buried, and they would stay that way. Dean could never know what had almost happened, what he'd almost done. Every time the bell jangled above the Gas N' Sip's door, every time he'd felt that low, anticipatory swoop in his stomach, every time it was repeatedly followed with dismay at seeing a stranger's face instead of Dean's, the '<em>almost' </em>became stronger.</p><p>And so Cas, once so powerful, would stand behind that register, and tell himself <em>one more customer. </em></p><p>
  <em>One more ring of the bell. One more hope. One more breath. One more minute. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>And maybe that 'one more' will be Dean. Maybe he will walk through the door, and I'll remember what his smile looks like, and how his jacket smells of cold mountain air, and whiskey and beef jerky. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>One more customer, and then I can give up.</em>
</p><p>But the strangers came and went, endless and empty. He couldn't even have the comfort of feeling their souls, and he wondered, if Dean came through that door next: would he feel just as distanced, just as closed off from his touch?</p><p>Once, he could have reached out and felt Dean's existence, solid and comforting. He could have opened his senses to their bond as easily as blinking, and whenever loneliness would seep in, Dean's presence had<em> been there. </em>A small flare of emotion, sometimes anger at his brother. Sometimes cheerful happiness, usually over some sort of food. Sometimes Cas would feel the needles of Dean's despair, in the middle of the night, and he knew that Dean was awake. Then the sadness would fade into a numbing weakened version of itself, static and incomprehensible, and Cas knew Dean had drunk himself to sleep.</p><p>He would often visit Dean then, just to make sure. Cas could've calmed Dean's mind, soothed his dreams with a single touch of a finger, but Dean would never want that. And so the angel would sit in the soft chair that Dean kept in the corner, and every time, wondered what would happen if he finally did it, just pulled back the covers and held Dean as he deserved to be held, and loved with everything Cas could give.</p><p>But Cas knew Dean wouldn't want that either.</p><p>It was these little things, these touches of Dean's thoughts, that had kept Castiel going for so many years. And whenever he wondered why he shouldn't just give up, why he was here, why <em>anything </em>he did <em>mattered… </em>he would tap into the bond, and he would remember.</p><p>And then the angels fell. And Castiel fell with them. He lost his powers, his wings, and his kin. But those losses were nothing in comparison to losing the <em>bond. </em></p><p>He remembered the first time, after falling, instinctively reading out to feel Dean's presence.</p><p>
  <em>The panic. </em>
</p><p>He had fallen to his knees in the middle of the road, and felt the sharp gravel dig into his skin, and the coldness of the air and the realization that an oncoming car could actually kill him now, but Castiel didn't care if he died, because <em>he had lost</em></p><p>
  <em>Everything.</em>
</p><p>Every day was worse. Homelessness, hunger, thirst, aching hips: those problems were only white noise compared to missing Dean, the pain that lodged itself between his ribs, the pain that pulsed with every beat of his human heart, a constant reminder of what had been stolen from him.</p><p>And then April had come along, and Cas understood for the first time how sex could be an efficient distraction, if only for a little while. But even she had turned against him, and in a way, Cas wished she <em>had </em>killed him, if only to save him from what came next.</p><p>Seeing Dean felt like waking up from a nightmare that felt so real, and the <em>relief </em>pours over you in waves but the lingering fear stays with you for the rest of the day. </p><p>Fear that Dean would lose interest in him. Fear that Dean wouldn't care. Fear that Dean would feel like a stranger. And the constant fear that he would never again feel their bond.</p><p>And then his fears came true, every damn one of them.</p><p>
  <em>"You can't stay."</em>
</p><p> And Cas realized he <em>couldn't </em>have lost everything before, because now he had lost a home too.</p><p>Dean couldn't even have bothered to find Cas a place to <em>stay</em>. A job. <em>A fake credit card, </em>at least. Not even a pillow was given to the fallen angel, when he had given <em>everything. </em>Shoved out of a home for the second time: first by heaven, then by Dean.</p><p>It was then that Cas wondered if even their friendship was one-sided. Perhaps his love for Dean hadn't stretched past the solace he gained from feeling the bond, and now that it was gone, he could see how little Dean truly cared. Of course, he understood now, why Dean had made him leave. To save his brother.</p><p>But wasn't Cas at <em>least </em>his brother too? Dean had called him family, but when it came down to it: <em>Sam</em> was family, and Cas was disposable assistance.</p><p>And yet, there Cas had waited for the Righteous Man, standing behind the counter of a dingy Gas N' Sip, because as much as it hurt, being Dean's disposable assistance was preferable to the alternative.</p><p>So he waited. Living out the <em>alternative. </em></p><p>Sometimes Nora talked to him, and she was nice, but she was nice to everybody. And sometimes she said things he didn't understand, and he would automatically tuck the reference away in his mind, memorize it, so he could ask Dean later what it meant. And then of course, he would remember that Dean wasn't there, that for the first time since lifting the Righteous Man from Hell… Castiel was truly <em>alone. </em></p><p>Nora never asked where he came from, and her lack of nosy questions was at least one thing Cas could be grateful for, because he wouldn't have known how to answer her.</p><p>He was from Heaven, and Hell and Purgatory and the Empty, alternate universes, suburban neighborhoods, different centuries, and thousands of other places.</p><p>But the one place he cared about, the one origin he'd hoped would become his home, turned out to be just like all the other one-stop destinations. He belonged nowhere, and so he had nowhere to come <em>from. </em></p><p>Did Dean know he felt? He must have, he'd spent his entire life on the road. Did Dean know that Cas was sleeping in storage closets, and eating whatever he could salvage from the garbage cans behind the building?</p><p>Did Dean feel as lonely as he did, as helpless, as vulnerable? Did Dean even <em>care? </em></p><p>He had spent a third of his day haunted by these questions. Another third was spent with his regrets. Yes, he had been useless without his powers. But he could have <em>learned. </em>He could have <em>helped. </em>He could have taken a small space in the bunker, no one would have noticed, he didn't even need a room, just a blanket and a pillow would have been enough. It would have been better that what he'd ended up with.</p><p>But he never got the chance to ask for any of that. Dean had just shoved some change and a used spare phone into his hand and let him out the door without a second glance.</p><p>Every day at that gas-station, Cas believed that Dean would've allowed him to stay if he'd been an angel. If he'd been <em>useful. </em></p><p>But a broken weapon, no matter its original strength, is of no use to anyone.</p><p>The last third of his day was spent trying to sleep. But a tiled closet floor can only be so comfortable. So he would often travel though the darkened store, wandering between the shelves of snacks and seeing how many of Dean's favorites he could find. When that game was over, he would try to guess at which ones Dean would enjoy, and which ones he would hate. Of course, it was a pointless ritual, without Dean there to affirm his assumptions.</p><p>Sometimes he used the old computer, stashed in the backroom for the staff to use on their breaks, and he spent most nights looking up Zeppelin song lyrics and memorizing every word, because he knew it was something Dean would smile about.</p><p>And sometimes he slept, but it felt more like half dreaming, half wakeful loneliness, until he couldn't tell the difference between his dream-Deans and his thought-Deans. One time, Dean told him "<em>I'm proud of you, Cas," </em>and he knew it was a dream. One time, Dean smiled at him, and he knew it was his wishful thinking. But mostly, Dean said "<em>you can't stay," </em>and those words hurt worst of all, because they were memories.</p><p>Finally, one night when the memory-words were stronger than ever, Cas got up and went to the bathroom. He dug out the one razor blade he owned, and he wondered, strangely calm, if it would be sharp enough. There had been a crack in the mirror. He remembered it so clearly, because of all the nights he'd spent looking at his empty reflection, halved down the middle, staring into his own eyes daring himself to do it, that he'd suffered worse, that the blade would <em>have </em>to be sharp enough, that it wouldn't matter once he started because he'd just keep going until it was all over.</p><p>But he stopped himself every time. Human hope was stronger, and more infuriating, than he'd ever considered possible.</p><p>And so Castiel was sure he had never hated an inanimate object quite so much as he hated the bell over that Gas N' Sip's door.</p><p>"Hey, Cas, look." </p><p>Cas blinked himself back into reality, and focused his vision on the film in Dean's outstretched hand.</p><p>Dean was grinning at him, and Cas knew. It didn't matter what had happened all those years ago. Dean was here <em>now, </em> and Cas could forgive anything if it meant keeping it that way.</p><p>"It's a Wonderful Life?" Dean rolled his eyes at Cas's confused expression, and tossed the film back on the rack. "That's the movie with the guardian angel dude named Clarence. Y'know, the nickname your old girlfriend gave you," Dean teased.</p><p>Cas almost thought of reminding Dean that angels didn't <em>have </em>relationships as temporary as girlfriends or boyfriends, but then realized Dean was just joking, and it didn't matter anyway. He sighed, and began shuffling through a movie bin labeled 'Classic Westerns.'</p><p>"Please, Dean, let's not talk about Meg."</p><p>"Ahh. That's right." Dean winked. "You actually <em>did </em>have a thing for her. What was it like by the way?"</p><p><em>"</em>What was <em>what </em>like?"</p><p>"Kissing a demon," Dean replied casually, as if it were incredibly commonplace to kiss the spawn of Hell. Cas considered for a moment, remembering.</p><p>"I don't quite know how to describe it. Dry, I suppose. Slightly suffocating." He grimaced. "Meg was my first kiss, so I have nothing to compare it to."</p><p>Dean stopped his digging. "Seriously? Your first kiss? No way. What about that stripper? Y'know, what was her—"</p><p>"Chastity?"</p><p>"Yeah, her. The night I took you to—"</p><p>"Dean I remember that night <em>very </em>clearly. But we never actually conducted any form of sexual or romantic contact. She asked me for the payment, and then I instinctively read her mind when she began to take off my trenchcoat—"</p><p>"—well, yeah, you can't possibly feel sexy in a friggin trenchcoat," Dean interrupted, then paused. "Seriously, though, ever considered switching up your duds, there?"</p><p>Cas frowned. <em>What else did Dean EXPECT him to wear? And why were humans so insistent on changing their wardrobes and creating further difficult decisions for themselves? </em></p><p>"At least I don't look like a lumberjack," Cas grumbled, and Dean was the one who looked affronted this time.</p><p>"Heh." Dean shook his head, and began searching through a new bin labeled 'Adult films.'</p><p>Cas seriously hoped he was not considering purchasing one of <em>those. </em>Pornography was confusing, and, as Dean had explained, it was not meant for watching <em>together. </em></p><p>"Y'know, I think your sense of humor is improving, Cas."</p><p>"Yes, well…" Cas's trenchcoat rustled as he shrugged. "…I suppose you've rubbed off on me."</p><p>Dean moved onto a new row, and Cas followed, then stood waiting as he watched Dean crouch and dig through a new bin. The label was smudged, but Cas could see a lot of cowboy hats depicted on the covers. <em>More western films?</em></p><p>"Dean…I want you to know." The words felt loud in the static quiet of the rental shop, and Dean looked up. "These past couple of days, the time we've spent together... it means very much to me. Thank you for letting me stay."</p><p>If Cas didn't know better, he would have said Dean looked terribly sad just then, as if his thank you had brought up memories he'd rather regret than face head-on.</p><p>"Cas. You don't have to <em>thank </em>me for something like that. We're family." Dean looked back at the bin, his words becoming quieter. "I always—I've always wanted you to stay. You know that, right?"</p><p>Well, he hadn't known that. Dean's actions over the years had been contradictory, at best. Damaging, at worst. He wished Dean could have told him this a long time ago, a time when those were the words he dreamed of hearing, the words that he needed more desperately than sleep or food or air.</p><p>"Plus—" Dean shuffled down to a different bin. He had collected about three films so far, but Cas couldn't see their covers. "I've had more fun with you in the past 24 hours than I've had with Sam in years, and you ain't exactly the life of the party," he joked.</p><p>It was enough. Coming from Dean Winchester, Cas considered himself lucky to have gotten that much. He wanted to say more, wanted to say everything, but it wasn't the right time. Not yet.</p><p>"Hey, uh—" Dean sounded suddenly awkward.</p><p>"Why <em>did </em>you kiss Meg? Just, curious."</p><p>Cas flushed and fidgeted against the movie stand. He sensed real curiosity ebbing off of Dean, but Cas knew if he spoke the <em>real </em>answer, that curiosity would quickly be replaced with immense humiliation.</p><p>
  <em>(Because, Dean, I wanted to kiss you so badly just then, I thought you would die again that night, but I knew you wouldn't want me, and Meg was the nearest distraction, the closest thing I could press all my need into, but I wish it had been you, I wanted it to be you—)</em>
</p><p>"I don't know. I was curious. It meant nothing," Cas mumbled.</p><p>"Huh. Awfully quick to talk, Cas. Sure you aren't hiding something, like maybe you wanted to kiss someone else?" Dean stood up and prodded the angel's shoulder teasingly, causing Cas to stumble slightly, feeling a slight layer of heat settle on his skin. If angels could sweat, he imagined he would be.</p><p>"No."</p><p>Dean grinned, enjoying the teasing. "Sure? Maybe you wanted to kiss Sam."</p><p>"No, Dean, I did not want to kiss your brother."</p><p> (<em>don't say it don't say it don't ask me what I KNOW you're going to ask me Dean—) </em></p><p>"Can we please drop—"</p><p>He saw Dean's lips forming the words, and wished he could stop them.</p><p>"—Or me, huh Cas? I know you wanted to kiss me—"</p><p>"Dean—"</p><p>
  <em>(Stop please Dean stop—)</em>
</p><p>"Hey you said you were curious, you coulda picked any one of us, you know you were just dying to—</p><p>"<em>DEAN</em>."</p><p>The two other customers in the store glanced over curiously at the sudden exclamation, but then resumed their browsing. Cas felt his body temperature climb higher, and he flickered his gaze away from Dean's face, knowing the truth was far too prevalent in his own eyes. He grit his teeth, trying to shove away the images and memories that Dean's words had surfaced.</p><p>Trying to close himself off.</p><p>
  <em>(Deny it just DENY it it's so simple—)</em>
</p><p>But he couldn't.</p><p>Dean reddened, his mouth opened slightly at Cas's expression. "I was only teasing, Cas I'm sorry man, I know you cared for Meg, I—"</p><p>"I know Dean. Just please let's drop it." Even Cas could hear the stiffness in his own words, but Dean continued to stammer belligerently onwards.</p><p>"You know I was only joking right? About you and me, ya know, I didn't mean—"</p><p>"I KNOW what you meant, Dean." Cas forced out a smile.</p><p>
  <em>I know what you meant. And that's what hurts.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Remember to subscribe to this work so you can receive updates when I post a new chapter!! ♥♥♥</p><p>Thank you guys for your support and interest. You guys are my motivation.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. The Good Things in Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAN WINCHESTER. You deserved better. </p><p> </p><p>sorta some fluff. also some angst.</p><p>Been so frickin busy this week, but I wanted to get the next chapter out, so it's a little shorter than I wanted.... The next one will be out soon, though, because I've already got all the dialogue planned out!!</p><p>ALSO:</p><p>THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR INCREDIBLE COMMENTS. SERIOUSLY. I HAVE NO WORDS TO EXPRESS MY HAPPINESS.</p><p>You have no idea how very very happy your comments make me. even the jibberish ones, I just love reading them, and I wake up every morning excited to reply to every single one BECAUSE I LOVE YA'LL SO MUCH. I am so grateful.</p><p>I probably wouldn't still be doing this if it weren't for your guys' interest and support, and it means so much to me.</p><p>SO LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK BECAUSE YOUR COMMENTS GIVE ME LIFE!!!!!</p><p>♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The breeze whipped through Cas's half-cracked open window as Dean drove back to the motel. The sun finished setting while they were paying for the movies, and now all that was left was the purple blue of evening, a slight tinge of orange resting on the horizon's brink. Dean could see snatches of it between the spaces of the blurred buildings.</p><p>Cas's face always looked beautiful. But Dean almost wished the sunset had lasted a little longer, just so he could see the angel arrayed in golden light. Just one more time.</p><p><em>Maybe I'll be able to see it again. Cas said he's going to stick around this time, so maybe he will, </em>Dean thought hopefully, glancing over at Cas. He imagined what it would be like to wake up in the morning, and see the angel in the bunker's kitchen, making coffee or talking with Jack. Discussing lore with Sam. Smiling when Dean would walk in, give him a mug of coffee, and Dean could live his day just knowing that Cas would be there. That he wouldn't have to pray to the angel every time he wanted to see him, he could just <em>see </em>him. Everywhere. Watch him in the library, head bent over Enochian literature. He'd walk into the map room, and see Cas arriving back home through the door, and watch him walk down the stairs, and he wouldn't have to wonder if the angel's visit was temporary, because it <em>wouldn't be</em>. They could talk about anything, and maybe the dorky weirdo would start collecting plants or rocks or something, just to liven-up his room, because that's what it would be: <em>Cas's room. </em>They'd share drinks in the evening, maybe a game night every once in a while. Jack would enjoy that.</p><p>Just to <em>see </em>Cas more often, just being around him…. It would open up so many chances, so many possibilities to say what he'd wanted to say for years. Maybe a week from now… everything would be different.</p><p>The thought struck a spike of nervousness through Dean's throat. He liked the idea of just being<em> near</em> Cas. It felt comfortable. The past 24 hours had felt like standing in the middle of a snow-blanketed forest. Peaceful. Even, almost happy.</p><p>But then the feelings of confusion would creep in, and <em>where was the path? </em>And how had he gotten lost here, and then everything would feel wrong and terrifying because how could happiness be comforting, if it could so easily be replaced by fear? And how could comfort be real, if he was always going to be second-guessing its validity?</p><p>He didn’t know how he felt about the idea of being<em> WITH</em> Cas, in every sense of the word, but whether he liked it or not, the damn thoughts were popping up everywhere, and maybe Cas felt the same, maybe a week from now, they'd be</p><p>
  <em>No. </em>
</p><p>Better to not get his hopes up. Better to not plan ahead like that, to assume they'd even SEE next week.</p><p>
  <em>Which means I need to do something NOW, something TODAY, while he's here and I'm here and we're still alive. </em>
</p><p>Dean shook his head, trying to clear away the nagging thoughts. Cas was an <em>angel. </em>Not some fish he could reel in whenever he wanted.</p><p>Truth be told, Dean had no idea where the guy was standing on such a topic. He didn't even know if angels could <em>feel </em>love, not in the same way at least. Yeah they had 'bond-mates,' or whatever, but Dean somehow doubted such relationships held the same romantic, and yeah, <em>sexual </em>attributes as human relationships. Even the name… <em>bond-mates…</em>it sounded so formal.</p><p>
  <em>But you might never get this chance again. You might die in this vamp hunt and then what? </em>
</p><p>Dean knew that even if Cas<em> did</em> keep his promise of staying around, in this line of work, it was always safer to assume you'd die the next day. He'd heard that saying, 'live like there's no tomorrow,' too many times to count, but the phrase was taken far more literally for hunters. It was almost more of a rule than a cliché piece of life-advice.</p><p>Something about imminent death really puts a stopper in the procrastination bottle. You can't put something off for tomorrow, if<em> tomorrow</em> might not exist.</p><p>Of course, that strategy had never really worked for Team Free Will, because while other hunters had been checking off their bucket lists, drinking through liquor stores, and banging their brains out before the inevitable end, Sam, Dean and Cas had been the ones trying to <em>stop </em>the inevitable end. Not much time left over for last wishes.</p><p>Dean smiled a bit, remembering when he'd tried that line on Cas. The night before they'd trapped and faced Raphael. Their supposed 'last night on earth.'</p><p>
  <em>("well, last night on earth. What are your plans?")</em>
</p><p>Dean used the line very rarely, of course, because however cheesy, it wasn't the sort of pick up line applicable to any random chick. Excepting Anna, who had used it—very successfully—on himself, Dean had only tried the line twice before. Once with Jo, which obviously hadn't panned out, and once with an overly perfectionistic university girl he'd met at a restaurant the night before 'the biggest test of her life.' She said she'd been studying for weeks, but still expected imminent failure, and seemed rather adamant on expressing her concerns with overly dramatized expressions predicting the end of all things, including but not limited to, the world, the universe, and her future.</p><p> The concept of preferring death to failing a chemistry test was out of Dean's comprehension, but he'd tried the line anyway, to minor success. They'd gone to a motel before she'd experienced a panic attack and started hyperventilating about some long-ass equation she couldn't remember punchline to, and Dean had driven her back to her dorm. It was too bad, really. Sex did wonders for stress-relief.</p><p>With Cas, however, the idea of sex seemed only to escalate the poor guy's stress levels. Honestly, he'd never seen Cas look more terrified.</p><p>That was the first time Dean had wondered if angels just didn't <em>do </em>things like that. Sex, love, romance, dating… even Anna had said she was jealous of these human activities, regretted that angels couldn't experience them. Plus, Cas had explained on several occasions that angels did not <em>have </em>solid forms anatomically similar to humanity's.</p><p>
  <em>'Multi-dimensional wavelengths of celestial intent.' </em>
</p><p>That's what Cas had said. The description kinda seemed to imply innate junkless-ness, and Dean realized now that he had been pushing Cas into doing something no angel had ever done without facing harsh consequences.</p><p>No angel was allowed to have romantic, or sexual relations with any human, due to the possibility of creating a Nephilim: the most powerful being in existence.</p><p>
  <em>Cas could have been killed. For having sex with a human. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>How am I just now realizing this????</em>
</p><p>Dean glanced over at Cas, the epiphany hitting hard and yet refusing to sink in.</p><p>
  <em>And Cas had just gone along with it??? </em>
</p><p>He must have known what Dean was asking. He must have known the consequences he might face: death, at the very least.</p><p>And yet Cas hadn't said a single word.</p><p>Even then, the fallen angel had been resisting heaven's most strict regulations, simply because Dean Winchester <em>asked. </em></p><p>
  <em>Maybe that's why he'd looked so terrified. Because he knew he was disobeying every angel in heaven, including his own garrison. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The damn idiot was risking his last chance of victory for a friggin hooker. All because I asked him to.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I just tried to kiss him.</em>
</p><p>Yes. Dean could lie to himself, he could pretend and deny, he could hide himself in everyone's assumptions, but the truth came out in his humor, his teasing, he masked the thoughts over with lame jokes and fake laughs, but deep down, Dean wanted them to <em>know. </em></p><p>He <em>wanted </em>Cas to see through him, see through the innuendos and the blatant references and the crude jokes, because if <em>Cas</em> couldn't see what he really meant, then Dean would have to consider the idea that his feelings were one-sided, that Cas ignored the jokes because he didn't want to acknowledge their true meaning.</p><p>
  <em>Stranded. </em>
</p><p>That's how Dean felt. There was no way he could ever express his truth in real words, no way he could abandon the safety of his cover, and if Cas didn't understand, or didn't want to understand…</p><p>
  <em>I don't know what to do. </em>
</p><p>How could he have been more obvious?</p><p>
  <em>(—"I know you wanted to kiss me, you were just dying to kiss me—")</em>
</p><p>And god, it was harder than he thought to speak those sacred words as if they were <em>laughable, </em>as if he didn't mean it, as if he hadn't imagined every damn night what Cas would taste like, what he would <em>feel </em>like, as if their first time was something to joke about when it was all Dean wanted anymore, just to <em>be with Cas, </em>in every way imaginable.</p><p>
  <em>(—"just dying to kiss me—")</em>
</p><p>And Cas had barely noticed. Barely reacted. It was the loudest cry of desperation Dean had ever dared to voice, and Cas had probably forgotten about it by now. Rejected it as another joke.</p><p>
  <em>(—"or me, huh Cas? You know you just wanted to—")</em>
</p><p>It was humiliating to think about now, how badly he'd wanted to be interrupted, wanted Cas to press him up against the movie racks, to feel the angel's chest breathing against his own, to breach the boundaries, to hold him there, and Dean wouldn't have resisted, he would submitted happily, would have <em>responded, </em>he would have kissed Cas hard and rough, he would have grabbed that stupid trenchcoat in both hands and he would have <em>known </em></p><p>
  <em>Everything.</em>
</p><p>But how many more times could he shove this away, before it became the thing he regretted instead of the thing he wanted?</p><p>----------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Cas had been trying to tune out of the bond during the drive back to the motel, but it was very difficult. They'd only been in the car for about 9 minutes, but Dean's thoughts had managed to escalate from nervous-anxiety to a full out panic attack. Cas worried that it had something to do with his reaction back at the movie store.</p><p>But what else was he supposed to say to teasing like that, when it hit so close to home?</p><p>
  <em>You were supposed to deny it. That's what you were supposed to do. You should've just said no. No, I didn't want to kiss you Dean, it would have been that easy.</em>
</p><p>But Cas knew he was lying to himself. Denying Dean was never simple. Lying was only slightly less difficult. He'd barely managed it in the past, and that was only because the urgency of their situation required it. Even then, Dean had managed to see through him.</p><p>Dean could always see through him.</p><p>It scared Cas to realize how close he'd gotten to revealing everything, to ruining everything. 24 hours with Dean, and one mundane visit to a Blockbuster, and he could have lost it all.</p><p>
  <em>And now Dean is panicking. And it's my fault. </em>
</p><p>Cas tried to block out the hunter's thoughts, but it was like trying to ignore a full-on prayer at this point. Dean's thoughts were so rapid, the words were almost indecipherable, but Cas could make out a few bits and pieces, a few images, memories.</p><p>
  <em>(angels Cas just ask death angels brothel sex idiot such an idiot Cas hooker I asked him to I asked him to it would have been my fault death Cas—)</em>
</p><p>And on and on. Cas winced at the onslaught of guilt and regret wrapping around each word. Being this close to Dean when he was upset with the bond open was like standing beneath a very powerful waterfall, the water pounding and pounding on his head and shoulders and he couldn't move or get out from under it.</p><p>And he felt horrible, invading Dean's thoughts like this. The last time it had been this bad was when they'd stood in that sigil together. Cas remembered well the strength of Dean's thoughts then, the speed at which they shifted and disintegrated… he hadn't been able to understand a single word, even the emotions had been thoroughly swirled together.</p><p>It felt so long ago.</p><p>The thoughts stopped, just for a moment, and Cas could feel the focused energy in Dean's mind, even before he heard his name.</p><p>"Cas, I…" Dean's voice was low, strained. He coughed and tried again. "I'm so sorry."</p><p>Cas flicked his gaze to the hunter.</p><p>"Dean you've already said sorry about Meg. There was no need for the first apology, and there is certainly no need for a second." He paused, realizing his words may not be helpful in way of encouraging further sincerity from Dean. This was rare. He should listen.</p><p>"Not that I don't appreciate it. I do, but—"</p><p>"No, man, not—" Dean huffed, and dragged a hand through his hair. "This isn't about that."</p><p>"Oh." <em>Then what? </em></p><p>"I just—I guess I've just been thinking—"</p><p>"Wonders never cease," Cas interrupted, nodding in mock seriousness, and Dean swatted him on the arm.</p><p>"Shut up. I need to say this." Cas could sense tension, and saw Dean shift uncomfortably.</p><p>
  <em>Is this it?</em>
</p><p>"I've been, remembering, a lot. These past few days." Dean gnawed at his lip, and Cas waited. "With Raphael and heaven and Naomi, those friggin Leviathan, Crowley, just—" he took a breath, still focusing on the darkened road. "Everything, I guess."</p><p>Cas was more confused than before, and he looked over at Dean. "What—"</p><p>"I've taken you for granted." The words spilled from Dean, green eyes flickered to meet Cas's gaze, then turned away. "Dammit, Cas, so many, <em>many </em>times," his voice broke, and they pulled at last into the motel's parking lot. The rumbling purr of the engine died as Dean yanked out the keys.</p><p>They sat in silence for a moment, and Cas almost said something, anything, but Dean spoke first.</p><p>"Especially Rexford."</p><p>Cas inhaled slowly, watching Dean's expression, then nodded. "Dean, that was a long time ago and—"</p><p>"<em>NO." </em>Dean slammed a fist against the steering wheel, but Cas didn't even flinch. He waited until Dean exhaled a shaky breath, watching him sit back. He could see Dean's jaw clenching and unclenching, and the hunter's next words were quiet. Tired.</p><p><em>"dammit, </em>Cas, I'm trying okay? This," Dean's gaze flickered around, searching for words. "This is me trying to say that—"</p><p>Green eyes met blue, and Cas felt his heartbeat rising, then falling, crashing and stalling with each breath that came, and he wondered, paralyzed if this was it. If Dean would finally just <em>say</em> it.</p><p>"<em>Cas I'm so sorry," </em>Dean whispered, and the angel swallowed, the fear trailing down his throat, settling achingly deep somewhere inside his lungs.</p><p>"You deserved better, when you fell, and I just kicked you out without even a pair of extra clothes, or even a credit card, and I…"</p><p>He looked down, fiddling with the set of keys. "Cas, <em>I can't forgive myself for that. </em>I can't believe I did that to you. You're <em>family, </em>and I treated you like crap."</p><p>Cas didn't know what to say. There was nothing he <em>could </em>say that would make Dean forgive himself. Dean Winchester remembered the things done to him by his enemies, he remembered the crimes made against his family, and those memories never ceased to cause pain: but nothing haunted Dean like the mistakes he'd made himself, the regrets of past decisions…. <em>Those </em>things, he never forgot. And he never forgave.</p><p>Right now, Dean didn't need forgiveness, because that was something he would never allow himself to accept. Dean needed love. <em>Deserved </em>love.</p><p>"Get out of the car, Dean."</p><p>Dean's breathing froze, and he stared at Cas with startled hurt. "Wh—"</p><p>But Cas was already standing in front of Dean's car-door window. "<em>friggin angels," </em> he heard Dean mutter, before opening the door handle and climbing out. "It's kinda col—"</p><p>But Dean didn't get another word of complaint out before Cas grabbed him in a tight hug, arms encircling over Dean's shoulders. Jimmy's vessel was slightly shorter, but Cas had never minded needing to stand on the tips of his feet. He never minded doing anything, not so long as he could have everything.</p><p>Not so long as he could spend his day seeing everything, and loving everything and saving everything…</p><p>Dean huffed softly into Cas's neck, leaning their weight against the impala's side. Cas could have kissed him when he felt Dean's arms wrap around his own body, warm and sure. He felt a hand pat one of his shoulders, and Dean's muffled words of amusement. "<em>okay. Okay, Cas."</em></p><p>It was never enough, touching Dean, but Cas had his own words to say. He let go, and Dean remained propped up against the car, as if he hadn't wanted to let go either.</p><p>"I forgive you Dean. I did a long time ago."</p><p>Dean gulped out a bitter laugh. "Yeah, well. I can't."</p><p>"I know. And it is infuriating." The words brought a light smile to Dean's lips, and Cas wanted to say more, wanted to make him <em>know. </em></p><p>"I’m serious. I have always forgiven you." Cas paused, leaning against the car next to Dean, their arms pressed flush against each other, a source of warmth in the cool evening. They looked up at the beginnings of stars, glinting out among the dark blue sky. "Life is too short to be resentful Dean."</p><p>He snorted. "My life sure doesn't feel short."</p><p>Cas sighed, and gave him a pointed look. "You spoke, and now I have a few things to say, and you are going to listen without argument."</p><p>Dean raised his eyebrows. "Who's arguing?"</p><p>Cas was sure that if Bobby were here, he'd call Dean an idjit, and tell him to 'shut his pie-hole and listen up.' Of course, those phrases weren't exactly in continuity with <em>any</em> angel's mannerisms, much less his own, and whatever Dean said, this was a serious moment.</p><p>"Yes, well, as I was saying, life is too short. I will admit I once felt very angry by the things you did, but I never stayed angry for long. Not even about Rexford."</p><p>Cas waited to hear a rebuttal, but Dean stayed silent. <em>Good. </em></p><p>"I will always forgive you, because you are too important to me. You are the family I chose, your brother as my brother, and you—"</p><p>
  <em>(—you are the one I love and I'd be yours, if you only asked. You are the one I choose, over and over and over, without pause, without a doubt, in a heartbeat, I'll always choose you. You are the one I'd follow anywhere, the one I'd always go with, no matter our fate. You are the one I think about when the world is falling apart. You are everything.)</em>
</p><p>Cas reached out to meet Dean's eyes, and Dean didn’t refuse.</p><p>"Dean, you are <em>everything." </em></p><p>He could see the beginnings of anxiety and denial behind Dean's eyes, he could see it in the way Dean inhaled sharply, the way he shifted his gaze to the sidewalk, then flickering back to search Cas's face, as if pleading for something, some <em>understanding, </em>something that he could grab onto that made sense.</p><p>So Cas smiled softly, and spoke before Dean had to struggle any longer. "You don't need to say anything. I just want you to know that I will always forgive you. That's all. Now—" He pushed himself into an upright standing position, checking the time on his phone. "I'm going to get us some food, and you are going to set up the movies, because motel television remotes are one piece of technology I have yet to fully comprehend."</p><p>Dean opened his mouth, and held up a hand, but Cas interrupted with a sigh. "Yes. I will find pie."</p><p>With that, Dean was left alone, leaning limply against the car, staring at the spot where Cas had stood.</p><p>It didn't feel quite so cold anymore.</p><p>-------------------------------------</p><p>It didn't take Cas long to find the diner where Sam had purchased their burgers the night before. He remembered the logo pattern on the wrappers, and there was only one of its kind in the general vicinity of their motel. Although he could have appeared immediately within the confines of the building, Cas had had far too many experiences dealing with terrified humans hurling their food at the strange extraterrestrial being who had accidentally apparated in front of their table.</p><p>So he found the nearest alleyway, and walked to the diner from there. The room was warm, and smelled of fresh tomatoes, and french fries and burgers. Cas had always liked diners. They possessed a certain… warmth. And no matter which diner you went to, no matter how far apart, the warmth was always there, familiar and beckoning.</p><p>He walked immediately up to the counter, scanning the menu, and reading from the list of ingredients as Dean had taught him to do.</p><p>Dean hadn't asked for anything specific, other than pie, which was good, because Cas wanted to surprise him. Dean had had enough burgers for two men's lifetimes, and it was about time he try something new.</p><p>A bored teenager—Chris, according to the nametag—greeted him from behind the register. "Hello what can I get for you this evening."</p><p>Cas squinted at the menu. "I'm wondering if you can help me decide, actually. If you were trying to prove to someone that you possess a sense of humor, but you also want to impress them, and make them feel less awkward, what would <em>you </em>order?"</p><p>He turned his attention to the teenager, who was staring back with a tired expression that reminded Cas very strongly of Dean when he was asked to help with research.</p><p>"Dude. Seriously?"</p><p>Cas frowned. "Yes, I am being serious."</p><p>The kid groaned, massaging the bridge of his nose with force. Another Dean-like similarity. "<em>I'm not getting paid enough for this…</em> I don't know, fella. Why don't you just get something you know she'll like?"</p><p>"No." Cas pointedly ignored the assumption that his company would be female. It didn’t truly matter. "Dean does better when he has a stimulating topic of conversation to distract him from his worries. I need something that will be… <em>unusual."</em></p><p>Chris glanced desperately behind him, as if searching for help. No one was there. "Ugh man, just order something."</p><p>"Very well. I need one slice of pie. Any kind. I will consider the rest of my order," Cas replied with a smile.</p><p>"Great. Awesome. Pie. <em>That </em>I can do." The teenager left, mumbling something about <em>weirdos in trench coats </em>under his breath, and Cas reconsidered the menu. There were salads. That was obviously out, since Cas wasn't feeling particularly suicidal. There were several different sandwiches, soups, and burgers, along with fries. But Dean had always eaten those things.</p><p>He scanned the menu further, then flipped to the back. <em>Ah. </em>This page contained several dishes with unfamiliar names. Too many decisions.</p><p>The teenager came back to the counter, a slice of cherry pie placed neatly within the plastic container. "So?"</p><p>Cas nodded pleasantly, having finally decided. "I'll take the three least ordered items on the menu."</p><p>The boy rolled his eyes. "aw come on dude. I've had a rough week, this weird game of yours isn't—"</p><p>"I am not playing a game," Cas insisted, squinting at the teenager. "Once again, I assure you I am being serious."</p><p>This time, Cas honestly wondered if Chris was going to have a psychotic breakdown. The teenager blinked at him for a few moments, then wandered off through the back door without saying a word. Cas frowned after him. He thought his order had been relatively simple.</p><p>Perhaps not.</p><p><em>Maybe I said something wrong. </em>Cas sighed. He could hear hushed arguing behind the swinging door. It might be a while. He tucked his hands within the pockets of his trenchcoat and waited, wondering which movies Dean had picked for their evening.</p><p>After what Cas estimated to be about ten minutes, a different worker came through the door holding two plastic bags of food. She smiled cheerfully, handing Cas the bags. "You've got our famous meatloaf, some sweetbreads, and a turducken sandwich. Will that be all then?"</p><p>"Yes, thank you," Cas nodded, handing her his credit card. "Where is Chris?"</p><p>"Oh." She flushed, and pursed her lips. "He—he had to take a break."</p><p>"Did I offend him?"</p><p>"Oh! No, nothing like that," she assured him. "Chris just, I guess he just thought your order was a little…abnormal, that's all."</p><p>Cas frowned. <em>What had been odd about it?</em> He would have to ask Dean later. She finished with the order, handing him a receipt, a cheery 'thank you,' and Cas stepped out of the warm diner into the darkened evening, looking down to check the total. There seemed to be a scribbled note, showing through from the back of the thin paper.</p><p>He flipped it over and read:</p>
<h3>
  <em>I want to live in a world where the word 'normal' is an insult. Don't be afraid to be weird, because all the best people are.</em>
</h3>
<h3>
  <em>Have a wonderful evening. The pie is on the house.</em>
</h3>
<h3>
  <em>-Kally</em>
</h3><p>Cas smiled at the girl's words. He could think of at least three people who needed to hear something like this. And one of them was waiting for him.</p><p>Tucking the receipt inside his coat pocket, right next to the mixtape, Cas walked down the alleyway and disappeared, a soft smile still hanging on his lips.</p><p>
  <em>There are so many good people in this world. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. The Truth</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I know, I know... it's been FOREVER. I'M SORRY. </p><p> </p><p>To make up for this chapter being LONG overdue, it is also... very long. </p><p>AND as an EXTRA apology, chapter 22 will be out very very soon. (ALSO: I know this chapter isn't the movie night chapter. I got a bit carried away with Sam and Charlie's pov. Chapter 22 is already half finished, and it will DEFINITELY be the movie night chapter, so.... YAY.</p><p>AND VERY SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT:<br/>I HAVE A BETA READER! jupiticas, you've been absolutely AWESOME. And I can't wait to continue working on this fic with you. It's been so fricking fun, thank you for all your spot-on tips and suggestions :)<br/>♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥</p><p> </p><p>ATTENTION: okay so the italics aren't working right now, I don't know why. I'm trying to figure it out, but my converter isn't working like it's supposed to. I'm hoping it'll work eventually.</p><p>so... i hope you enjoy it anyway. GAH.</p><p> </p><p>hopefully I fixed em.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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<p></p><div><p>Sam sat back in his chair and groaned, massaging his eyes. He'd been reading excerpts from Charlie's list for a couple hours now, and was starting to think that even fanfiction might be preferable to Chuck's books. Besides the incredibly creepy feeling of reading about yourself from an outsider's point of view, he also had to read his brother's thoughts. And since Charlie's list consisted of mostly Dean and Cas moments, he'd basically been given a front row seat to Dean's innermost feelings regarding the angel.</p><p>Very <em>repressed</em> innermost feelings. John had obviously inflicted more damage than Sam had expected. It seemed that every time Cas's name popped up in his brother's thoughts, their father's words did too, like a packaged deal of constant torment. <em>'Buy one Gay Thought, get one Painful Memory: Courtesy of the World's Best Abusive Father!'</em></p><p>
        <em>No wonder Dean hasn't made a move yet. </em>
      </p><p>Sam wished it weren't necessary to invade Dean's privacy like this, but Dean never needed to know, right? </p><p>Charlie had found a website that allowed fans to read all the books for a very small price. Apparently, the <em>Supernatural </em>series wasn't too popular. Not that Sam <em>wanted </em>them to be popular. Their existence alone was enough of a nightmare.</p><p>Each book was like an individual chapter in the giant webpage collection, and with a little coding-hack courtesy of a certain red-haired genius, Sam could view all the chapters on one long single page, eliminating the need to load them up individually, and allowing him to search for key-words and terms throughout the entire compilation of works.</p><p>Obviously, he couldn't search for 'Dean,' because that would lead to just about every single paragraph in the books. Searching 'Castiel' directed him straight to Pamela's séance, which Sam decided to skip. There was no point in dredging up past guilt. He scrolled downwards, to the first time Dean and Cas ever met. Sam scanned the section quickly, knowing he had a <em>lot </em>of material to get through. Charlie's list was long, and most of her notes took place in the later books. Still, Sam couldn't help feeling curious. He'd been watching Cas and Dean's staring contests for as long as he could remember, but he hadn't been around for their very first meeting. </p><p>Apparently, their 'eye-thing' had been no less conspicuous during that night in the barn, because the section included more than twelve mentions of the word 'staring.' </p><p><em>Also, apparently</em>… Sam grimaced. …<em>there had been LITERAL sparks flying.</em></p><p>Besides the fact that Dean had stabbed Cas in the chest—talk about an awkward first introduction—the chapter contained nothing else of much consequence, nothing that Sam considered helpful to the cause, at least. But he had plenty of other sections to go through.</p><p>Charlie's next bullet point directed him to a chapter titled "It's the Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester."</p><p>Sam frowned, wondering if God could get drunk. Must've been, because nobody sober could come up with a title like that. He pressed Control-F once again, searching up Castiel, and scrolling past the sections with Uriel, until he came upon a paragraph relaying a conversation between Cas and Dean.</p><p>Only their second conversation together, and the angel was already revealing his deepest doubts to Dean. </p><p>And Dean…. Well.</p><p>
        <em>[…] The trench coated angel met Dean's gaze, and something passed between them. A familiar understanding, that seemed to almost… humanize the celestial being sitting across from him. Dean couldn't help feeling that this was the beginning of something important, that this dark haired angel would change everything. […]</em>
      </p><p><em>'The beginning of something' indeed, </em>Sam thought. <em>More like the beginning of Sam Winchester's status as 'exasperated third-wheel.' </em></p><p>He remembered when Cas had labeled <em>himself </em>as the third wheel, right after happily proclaiming his desire to be a hunter. Of course, the angel hadn't truly known what the phrase meant, but it was ironic, considering that <em>Sam </em>had spent that entire case feeling more like the third wheel than ever before. </p><p>The hours blurred by, and Sam's eyes eventually retreated into exhausted squinted slits of concentration, and by four in the morning, he'd lost count of the number of coffee mugs he'd refilled. Charlie had managed a couple hours of searching for Dean's notes—nothing found so far—before passing out on Cas's armchair, and Sam had carried her to Cas's room, where she'd been sleeping ever since then. </p><p>Charlie was right. There was more than enough evidence. Probably more than Sam should have known about, but as Charlie had said: they had to find out if this 'thing' was real. </p><p><em>Oh, it's real, all right. </em>Sam pushed his chair back, and stood up to relieve his cramping knees, wincing at their stiffness.</p><p>Sam knew, both from real life and from Chuck's narration, that his ship's—</p><p>
        <em>(did I seriously just call it that??)</em>
      </p><p>—issues extended far past John's close-minded opinions. Sometimes, he had to stop himself from reading a full section of Dean's thoughts, because delving into that level of pain… <em>his own brother's</em> pain… Sam was curious, but there was a difference between researching and <em>prying. </em></p><p>Some things should stay hidden.</p><p>Still, he managed to get a basic understanding, and began making a list.</p>
<ul>
<li>Dean believes himself undeserving of love.</li>
<li>Dean thinks angels don't feel romantic love (further research into seraph relationships/bond-mates).</li>
<li>
<strong><em>Dad</em>. </strong>(internalized homophobia?)</li>
<li>Doesn't want to lose Cas's friendship.</li>
</ul><p>Castiel’s list was harder, because Sam definitely didn’t know the guy as well as Dean did. Plus, Chuck seemed to focus primarily on the Winchesters' perspectives, so there weren't many chapters depicted from Cas's point of view. Still, it became obvious after a while that Cas's list was going to look <em>very</em>similar to Dean's.</p>
<ul>
<li>Believes Dean wouldn't reciprocate.</li>
<li>Doesn't want to scare Dean away (lose their friendship).</li>
<li>Thinks he's messed up too many times for Dean to love him.</li>
<li>Assumes Dean doesn't feel that way towards men. </li>
</ul><p>Sam tried to take an academic approach to these lists, because he knew if he really analyzed what he'd been doing for the past several hours, it wouldn't be too out of line to label himself as an 'invasive pervert.' </p><p>Besides, he could've guessed most of the items on the list even before reading Chuck's books. Sometimes it seemed he knew Dean better than he knew himself, and as for Cas….the guy's love was the most deliberately obvious of the two, and it didn't take a genius to narrow down the reasons for his lack of confession. </p><p>Sam started another list. </p><p>Problem 1: is it real?</p><p>Problem 2: how to make them get past their issues?</p><p>The small chair creaked as Sam sat back, considering everything he'd read so far. Honestly, the 'eye thing' was the <em>least </em>discriminating evidence. Everything that had been said… everything Cas had done for Dean. Things Sam had never known, and doubted even Dean knew about. </p><p>It was overwhelming. But Sam didn't have time to be overwhelmed. His instinct told him it was real, without a doubt. His memories, and observations certainly did. And the books….</p><p>Sam checked over the excerpts he'd copied and pasted into a document. These being especially long sections, he'd initially skimmed over the details in order to move on, but even a quick glance had convinced Sam that these particular bits were important enough to put aside for in-depth analysis. The first excerpt started on Valentine's day, 2010. The day they'd killed Famine.</p><p>
        <strong>
          <em>MY BLOODY VALENTINE</em>
        </strong>
      </p><p>
        <em>[…] Castiel stood on the Spur 4 Bridge of Northern Vancouver. He liked it there. The bridge was centered in a large area of private property, making it inaccessible to cars and people who weren't given explicit permission, which meant he could be alone. He looked down at the cell phone in his hands, willing it to ring. He couldn't remember ever wanting anything so much as he wanted that cell phone to ring. And yet, he had no idea why.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>As an angel, his cell phone rarely rang, because Sam and Dean were the only ones who would be using such a device to contact him. And they almost never called. Only if they were in trouble, or if they needed help. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Actually, he couldn't remember the last time ANYONE had called him, angel or human, to ask for anything other than his help. Castiel the Useful. Castiel the Last Resource. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>He wondered if there would come a day when he would cease to be useful. At least then, he'd have no use for a cell phone. No one would be calling. The Winchesters' would have no use for a broken weapon.</em>
      </p><p><em>Suddenly, Castiel felt a strong compulsion to be near them, specifically Dean. It was</em> all <em>he wanted, and the feeling was more than a little disconcerting.</em></p><p>
        <em>Castiel had, of course, been aware of the bond he shared with Dean for quite some time, but though he knew he cared deeply for him, and enjoyed the hunter's company, it had never before caused him such physical pain to be separated, as the pain he felt standing on that bridge. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>He felt the distance from Dean like a hook in his grace, digging and pulling. He had been fighting it. Certain it was nothing. But when the cell phone screen lit up blue, Dean's name appearing in the center, he felt a strange breathless surge of warmth, his pounding heart beat faster than usual. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Cas, it's Dean."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Dean's voice suddenly sounded more wonderful than anything he'd ever heard. Familiar and comforting and…</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Do you need help? Where are you?"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Yeah, room 31-c, basement level. St. James Medical—"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Within the space of half a second, Cas found himself standing face to face with Dean in the mortuary.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"—Center."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Dean stopped short, green eyes blinking at the angel standing only four inches away from his own face, cell phone still held uselessly to his own ear. Castiel met his eyes, and couldn't seem to look away. Just being there was a relief; it felt like coming home, like being able to breathe after holding it in for too long.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"I'm there now," Cas said after a moment, somewhat pointlessly.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Yeah, I get that." Dean still hadn't tucked away his cell phone, their words reverberating through each other's devices. Across the room, standing near the examination table, Sam watched them both and shook his head. Neither of them noticed, both unable to break the connection. When Dean still made no move to end the call, Castiel narrowed his eyes. "I'm going to… hang up. Now."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Right," Dean agreed. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>As they lowered their cell phones, Castiel could feel the blood rushing through his vessel’s veins, roaring in his head as the pulse in his chest raced. His grace was, for lack of a better word, on fire. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Whatever was going on within him, now was not the time to examine it. Right now, Dean needed his help. And as far as Castiel was concerned, that was all that mattered.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Sam stared at the two idiots, who, although standing only a few inches apart, were so star-struck to be in each other's presence that they had forgotten to hang up the call, and were still speaking through their cell phones. Not that he hadn't expected a truly sickening reunion, like the one he was so unwillingly being privy to, but still. Did they really have to do it in front of him??</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Dean hadn't stopped mentioning Cas all morning. Just little snippets. Wondering what Cas was up to, wondering if they'd need him for this case, and on and on. At first, Sam hadn't minded. Cas was his friend too, after all. But then…things started getting suspicious. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>They'd been sitting at the motel dining table, drinking beer and hitting the lore. There was only one laptop, and Sam knew where Dean really wanted to be, and honestly, Dean's fidgeting was starting to get under his skin. His brother's absence would be a win-win for both of them, at this point. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Only, Dean wanted to stay. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>At first, Sam thought maybe he had forgotten. With everything going on, it was possible that Valentine's Day hadn't been in the top ten things on Dean's mental calendar. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Go ahead," Sam reminded him. "Unleash the kraken. See you tomorrow morning."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Dean squinted. "Where am I going?"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Okay, he REALLY forgot. "It's Valentine's day? Your favorite holiday, remember? I mean, what do you always call it—" Sam held up air quotes. "—'Unattached Drifter Christmas?'"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Dean nodded, and stood up to get another beer from the cooler. "Oh yeah. Well… be that as it may, I don't know." He tossed the beer cap behind him, and took a sip. "Guess I'm not feeling it this year."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Well that was unexpected. Sam cautiously looked up from his laptop. He felt as if alarms should be blaring. A siren, at least.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"So… you're… not into bars full of lonely women?"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Dean seemed to consider for a moment, then shrugged. "Nah. I guess not."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Acknowledging Sam's worried expression, Dean rolled his eyes and set the beer aside. "What."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"It's when a dog doesn't eat, Dean. That's when you know something's really wrong."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Dean raised his eyebrows slowly. "Remarkably patronizing concern duly noted. But nothing's wrong." He reached for his beer, and sank once again into the small chair. "We gonna work or what?"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>That was only the beginning. Then there'd been the mortuary.</em>
      </p><p><em>The thing about calling Cas, is that he didn't answer. Not to</em> Sam, <em>anyway. The dude was busy, and Sam could understand that. But his lack of response would be far less infuriating if it ALSO happened when Dean called.</em></p><p>
        <em>Sure, there was the whole 'Dean and I do share a more profound bond' thing, whatever that meant, and sometimes, even when Dean prayed, it still took a few minutes before Cas was able to answer.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>But it was almost offensive how quickly Cas responded to Dean's phone call that Valentine's day in the hospital. Almost like the dork had just been standing around WAITING for the phone call… </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Not only that, but Dean didn't even have to explain the purpose of his call, hell, he hadn't even finished his damn sentence before the angel was standing before them in all his trench-coated glory. </em>
      </p><p><em>What was up with that? Sam could remember several times when he'd had to literally</em> trick <em>Cas into answering his calls, but when DEAN said a single word, it's all </em><strong>whooshflap</strong>, <em>and</em> 'HELLO.'</p><p>
        <em>Besides that, this was the first time Dean had ever called Cas within minutes of their investigation. Sam had researched Enochian sigils before. Bobby had too. But one glimpse of angelic language carved into a couple of hearts, with little to no other information, and Dean had gone running to make the call.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Sam didn't mind, per se,... But it was weird. Suspiciously weird. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Cas hadn't had any idea what they were dealing with. And yet here he was, no tricks, no waiting: requiring not even a single speck of explanation for the purpose of his assistance.</em>
      </p><p>----------------------------</p><p>Sam stopped reading for a moment. He remembered that day. How could he forget… the hunger for demon blood, the <em>need </em>that had possessed him as easily and fully as any demon, the pure unbridled strength he'd felt… </p><p><em>His </em>hunger had been corruptive. Damaging, addictive and toxic. </p><p>In contrast, Famine had said that Dean was so dead inside, he had remained unscathed by the Horseman's influence. So dead inside, he became immune to desires of any kind. This fit with Dean's abnormal reluctance to engage in his usual Valentine's Day activities… but it left a lot of questions. For Dean, sex was like booze: a distraction from their life, from the emptiness that so often consumed hunters. Even when Dean had been weeks away from Hell itself, petrified to the bone every day up until the chopping block…. That still hadn't stopped him from going out and getting sex. So why was Dean so suddenly uninterested in his main distraction? </p><p>And Cas… it was hard to believe that an angel of the lord, a multidimensional being of celestial intent, could keel over in the presence of a simple <em>burger</em>. Horsemen were strong, no doubt. But Sam suspected something else entirely had been going on. And this chapter held the answers.</p><p>Sam decided to skip through the 'we're hunting a Cupid' conversation, and moved on to the next paragraph. </p><p>-------------------------------</p><p>
        <em>Dean had suggested they take a break and go for lunch, and Cas knew better than to argue with hungry Dean. It was just about as dangerous as trying to wake the hunter when he was sleeping. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Besides, the restaurant would likely provide a variety of distractions, and with the way the morning had unfolded thus far, distractions were exactly what Castiel needed. </em>
      </p><p><em>He'd always been drawn to Dean. But today was different. The…</em> 'thoughts’, <em>were stronger than ever before. And the more he tried to ignore them, tried to douse their heat, the deeper they pierced, clinging to the darkness inside every blink, disrupting every other thought, until Cas thought his vessel would burst with the strain of feigning calm. </em></p><p>
        <em>Something wasn't right. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>The restaurant they had chosen obviously had no limit on their Valentine's Day decoration expenses. The room was decked in hearts of every shape, form and material. Everywhere Castiel looked, he could see some sort of pink or red decoration, flowers gilded every available surface, and each table displayed delicate velvet-soft roses in thin glass vases.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Dean walked up to a booth, sliding in nearest the wall, and Castiel experienced a frenzied moment of panic when he realized he didn't know which would be worse: sitting next to Dean, thighs only inches apart, or sitting across from him, where he could have full view of Dean's face? Thankfully, Sam solved the struggle by choosing for him, and with an impatient gesture, motioned Cas into the opposite booth. Cas slid cautiously into the seat, careful to refrain from kicking Dean's boots in the process, and Sam sat down after him, giving the angel a strange look.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>A few women sat dejectedly at the bar, glancing at the three men across the room. Sam raised an eyebrow at Dean. "Sure you want to cancel Christmas?"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Dean just rolled his eyes, and picked up a menu uninterestedly, then after a second of hesitation, set it back down on the table. Cas was oddly gratified to notice that Dean wasn't even giving the women a second glance, even though the dark brunette hadn't stopped dishing out annoyingly inconspicuous looks. Cas felt needles prick the inside of his chest as he watched her body language become increasingly obvious. </em>
      </p><p>Was this what jealousy felt like? <em>He didn't know. The next time she looked over, Cas met her eyes with a cold stare, and she quickly returned her gaze to the counter. The needles faded. But that odd feeling was still there… he felt suddenly as if his lungs were closing up, and the thoughts returned with vengeance. Thoughts no angel should be having… </em></p><p>I have to stop this, <em>Castiel thought, and glued his eyes to the tabletop.</em> Maybe if I focus on each single atom in this table, the thoughts will stop, maybe if I just don't look at him—</p><p>
        <em>Dean's boot nudged Cas's own shoe, and Cas looked up, startled, to see the hunter eyeing him worriedly. "Hey, man, you okay?" </em>
      </p><p>(—look away just LOOK AWAY, don't meet his eyes, look anywhere else—)</p><p>
        <em>"Yes. I'm fine."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>—115, 116, 117… Castiel continued to stare at the tabletop, counting the atoms one by one. He could feel Dean's eyes, Dean's boot resting against his own foot, and even stronger, he could feel the thoughts: pounding away inside his mind. He could feel some part of his grace thrumming with static energy, and the need to reach out and touch Dean's hand, so casually lying splayed just a couple feet away from his own hands. It would be so very easy to reach out, to knock aside the tall ketchup and mustard bottles, to grab Dean's tie and pull him closer and—</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Castiel squinted harder at the collection of atoms in front of him, shoving his hands deep inside the pockets of his trenchcoat. It was taking all of his self-control to keep himself from lunging across the table. He wasn't even sure what he would do once across the great expanse of space, only that he needed to be closer.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>—143, 144, 145… it was easier if he didn't look, didn't listen. So with his eyes fixed on the table, Castiel tried to erase his consciousness, to fade. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Don't think, just fade.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>And that's when it happened. A new pulling, a new hunger, less primal than his own, and far less piercing, but undeniably THERE. A solution.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Castiel had never been more grateful for his vessel. Jimmy's hunger was simple, almost ridiculously basic, but it was precisely what Castiel needed, and with a relieved exhale, he let his grace retreat as far inwards as possible, allowing Jimmy's subconscious to surface, just enough to douse the thoughts.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>While Sam and Dean placed their orders, Castiel remained silent, staring at the table, ignoring their voices and listening instead to the needs of Jimmy Novak. The more he let Jimmy feel, the more he seemed to crave red meat. It was the perfect cover. The perfect distraction from the one thing he wanted. The one thing he knew he couldn't have.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>By the time their food arrived, Castiel had mastered the perfect balance between his own control, and Jimmy's. It required focus, but the thoughts dissipated, the danger had passed. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"So, what," Dean said, flipping his burger open and squeezing ketchup in zig-zags across the patty. "You just happen to know he likes cosmos at this place?"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>The Cupid. Dean was talking about the Cupid. Castiel had almost forgotten.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Even though Jimmy's hunger for red meat was extraordinarily overpowering, he still refrained from looking at Dean as he spoke. The barrier was delicate, and there were far too many opportunities already that could prompt its destruction. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"This place is a nexus of human reproduction. It's exactly the kind of…" he paused, entranced by the drips of ketchup squeezing out from the burger as Dean replaced the bun. His mouth began to water. "—of garden that cupid will come to—"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>His eyes instinctively flicked upwards to meet Dean's, and immediately regretted it, the thoughts resurfacing in swirls of possessive hunger. He closed his eyes, forcing Jimmy to the top.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"—to pollinate."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Dean nodded, picking up his burger, then grimaced, and just as indecisively placed it back on the plate. Sam stopped mid-chew—a salad, of course—and watched, eyebrows raised, as his brother shoved away the plate of uneaten food. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"You're not hungry." Sam's voice was disbelieving, almost amused, but Cas could sense the worry, the tension. He wondered if he'd missed something important earlier.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"No." </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>With that one word, Dean shifted his gaze to Cas, a brief, secret look that could have been missed within the span of a blink. But Castiel didn't blink much. And even though he still had his eyes cast downward, he had felt Dean looking at him, and more importantly, felt a sudden spasm of longing, coming from Dean's direction. Not longing for him, obviously. </em>
      </p><p><em>But it was definitely a longing for </em>something. </p><p>Dean must be experiencing his own repressed desires…<em>Cas realized. But for what, exactly? And why was this happening? And why couldn't he feel anything coming from Sam? </em></p><p>
        <em>The thoughts pounded against the barricade in Castiel's mind, shrieking to be let out of their confinement, screaming to be heard, to be heeded. Castiel ignored them, summoning the simpler needs of Jimmy Novak to the surface.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Sam was still regarding Dean cautiously , and Dean glared back, instantly defensive. "What? I'm not hungry!"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Jimmy's insatiable hunger took over, and Cas felt his vessel reach out an eager hand for Dean's plate. "Then you're not going to finish that?"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Dean didn’t answer, but his suspicious look was the only form of answer Jimmy had the patience for. It was the first time Cas had ever felt a craving for food. Sam seemed too confused to say anything, looking as if he'd stepped into an alternate universe. </em>
      </p><p>Maybe that IS what happened, <em>Cas thought. Not that it mattered. He would never get what he truly desired, alternate world or otherwise.</em></p><p>----------------------------------</p><p>Wow. Sam took a deep breath. He felt more exhausted than he had in a long time. But he couldn't stop now, not when things were really starting to make sense. That Valentine's day had always bothered him. Besides the whole demon blood thing, obviously. </p><p>Cas had just been acting so weird. Well, weird-<em>er</em>. The angel had always been known for engaging in abnormally lengthy eye-contact, particularly with Dean, but on that day, there were dozens of occasions when Cas seemed to purposefully look away from the one man he could usually never keep his eyes off of…</p><p>That's why Cas had seemed so… <em>not-Cas.</em> He had been Cas, technically, but he'd also been Jimmy. Like split-personality, or something. </p><p><em>So red meat hadn't been Cas's hunger after all.</em> It made so much sense now. <em>It had only been a cover-up for what he really wanted. </em></p><p>"Oh god." Sam groaned into his arms. He did not need to imagine—<em>that</em>. </p><p>
        <em>I have to stop picturing these things. </em>
      </p><p>He suddenly wondered if Charlie pictured those things when she had read the books. Probably. It was kinda hard not too, with Chuck's overly-descriptive writing style. She also said she'd read a lot of fanfiction and—</p><p>
        <em>No, nope. Not gonna go there. Too much information.</em>
      </p><p>Sam massaged a hand through his hair, eyes beginning to twitch from fatigue and too much reading. He decided to skip through the 'Cupid in a birthday suit' portion,' since he didn’t really have an urge to read about himself being hugged by a naked angel-dude. </p><p><em>Next up…. </em>Ah. Back at the motel. </p><p><em>Aaand it's in Dean's perspective.</em> Awesome. Like he hadn't had enough insight already into his brother's sexual fantasies. </p><p><em>Purely analytical,</em> Sam reassured himself. <em>Just read it like you're reading evidence files for any other case. Just… extremely </em>personal<em> evidence files. With lots of description. </em></p><p>--------------------------------------------------------</p><p>
        <em>Dean had been feeling weird all day. First he'd basically disregarded Valentine's day completely. He'd told Sam he hadn't felt like it. Which was true, for the most part. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>But it wasn't the whole truth. Maybe it was because he was getting older, but somehow the idea of going 'home' with another stranger, another woman he'd never see again… it almost made him feel sick. Not the hammered-to-the-point-of-puking-in-a-toilet kind of sick.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>The kind of sick feeling that made his lungs close up, and his throat shrivel, hot and strangled. The kind that made his stomach flop uncomfortably, and then he couldn't breathe because suddenly he could see himself, 10 years down the road, too tired to flirt with strangers, too dead inside to make an effort on something that wouldn't last longer than a night, too damaged to find 'the one,' and he'd go back to some motel, drunk and just as alone as ever. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>And it's not that Dean minded being alone, necessarily, but the idea of actually being alone forever, of dying alone, unloved, without ever having experienced certain things… people, and… feelings. Differently than he had before. Maybe even for the first time.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>He wanted to know what it felt like, what everything felt like: to be loved, to love unconditionally, to wake up next to a warm someone, instead of waking up to a cold bed and a casual hand-written note.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>He'd seen dozens and dozens of notes like that, in his years on the road. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Thanks, that was fun, but…"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"I had a great time, but…"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"I hope you didn't get the wrong idea…"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"I'm not looking for a long term relationship…"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"I had to leave early…"</em>
      </p><p><em>Hell, </em>he'd <em>left plenty of those notes on motel pillows, too many to count. It was always easier to leave a note, than say goodbye to someone who didn't care anyway. Of course, he'd never actually written 'Goodbye.'</em></p><p>
        <em>It seemed such a significant word, too meaningful to use on a one-night-stand. Goodbye was meant for lovers, for last days, for dying wishes, for devastating final glances. Goodbye meant the end, a finale without closure, and even though he knew he'd never see those hookups again, and that is WAS final… saying… Goodbye, to a stranger… it seemed almost indecent. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Like saying I love you on the first date. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>He was so tired of endings, and all he wanted, suddenly more than anything, was a beginning. Beautiful, and promising and new.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Even if the beginning was just a person to come home to, Dean wanted it. Wanted to be with the kind of person who knew the life, who understood the pain and the danger, the kind of person who didn't ignore Dean's brokenness but loved him anyway, despite the cracks and glued-together pieces. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>But what he wanted… he knew he couldn't have. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Hunters didn't get happiness. Killers didn't get homes, and they certainly didn't deserve them either. Weapons like himself could never have peace. But how he wanted these things.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>And screw it all: maybe a small, hopeful part of himself even wanted a son, or a daughter. Maybe if he found the right person, maybe together, it could work. Maybe he could be a dad without turning into an obsessed bastard. With a home, and a kitchen where he could make real food, that didn't come in plastic trays or wrappers, and maybe he could find a small, simple job that he enjoyed, at a mechanic-shop or something. And maybe Sam would get a dog like he'd always wanted, and Dean could pretend to gripe about the fur getting all over Baby's cushions and maybe, years from now, Dean Winchester would wake up next to someone and smile, because for the first time, he would WANT to be alive.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>He'd always wanted these things. But somehow today, he felt their absence more than ever before.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>And of course he couldn't talk about it, especially not to Sam, the guy who had once possessed those beautiful things. And then his big brother had come sweeping in to steal it all away. </em>
      </p><p>I have no right to complain to Sam about anything. Not after what I took from him, <em>Dean reminded himself bitterly.</em></p><p>
        <em>He needed someone else. Someone who could understand without words. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Screw it, he needed Cas.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>So they'd gone to the mortuary, and Dean hadn't wasted a single second in calling him. And then Cas had been standing there, only inches away, and Dean knew that if the room had been empty, he would have hugged the dorky trench coated angel right then and there. He almost wished Cas would've reached out first.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>And then something happened. Standing there, cell phone to his ear, staring into those ocean eyes, Dean imagined what it would be like, if Cas was the one. If Cas helped him raise a kid. If Cas met up with him at work, just to say hello, to make plans for the evening. If Cas helped him pick out a home, and mojo-cleaned the fur out of the car so Dean wouldn't notice, if Cas was the warm person he woke up to every morning, the one he shared coffee with, in happy silence, if Cas was the one who loved him unconditionally, loved him for everything he was, loved him despite everything he'd done.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>But Cas was an angel. And angels didn't have the equipment to care, not in that way. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>So Dean embraced the truth in all its welcoming emptiness, and watched as his emotions went numb. Ebbing farther away with each exhale, he watched as Castiel ignored him. </em>
      </p><p>---------------------------</p><p>Sam didn't know how much more of this he could read. He was glad that he'd chosen this particular excerpt, because it seemed to be all the evidence he needed. </p><p>He was starting to feel awfully weird, reading Dean's deepest thoughts, and they still had to find those damn notes. Sam huffed out a long sigh of exhaustion into his folded arms. It was almost… comfortable enough… to… </p><p>
        <em>No.</em>
      </p><p>Just a little bit more to read. Then he could be done. Once again, he skimmed through the case details, skipping the part where he stabbed the demon with the briefcase, they brought it back to the motel room, it was a soul, blah blah—Ah. </p><p>Sam slapped himself in the face a few times to stay awake, blinking rapidly, and began reading. </p><p>-----------------------------------</p><p>
        <em>The briefcase looked far too normal for Dean's liking. In his experience, anything that looked normal at first glance, usually turned out to be far nastier than the obvious evils.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em> Dean eyed it warily. "What the hell does a demon got to do with this, anyway?"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Sam shook his head. "Believe me, I have no idea." He tried to keep the shaking out of his voice, but Dean noticed anyway.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"You okay?"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Yeah, yeah I'll be alright." His reply was easily spoken, but Dean knew it was just the usual Winchester lie. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>He would know. He'd used it more times than he could count. On Sam, on Bobby, on his Dad. Even on Cas. But somehow, Cas could always get the truth out eventually. Sometimes Dean wished he could be a little bit more like Cas. Knowing when people were lying, and knowing exactly what to say instead of taking the easier route and just pretending to believe the lie. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Let's crack her open. What's the worst that could happen, right?"</em>
      </p><p><em>Heh. Cause </em>that <em>question never led to any major disasters. </em></p><p>
        <em>Dean expected a monster or something. Maybe five-eighths of a virgin. Maybe some ingredients for a spell. Honestly the possibilities were endless, but reality turned out to be rather unexpected. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>It was some sort of harsh bright light. Iridescent and almost… divine. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Whoa." Sam closed the top of the briefcase, raising an eyebrow at Dean.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"What the hell was that?!"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"It's a human soul."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Dean whirled around to see Cas standing behind them, centered in the dingy motel room, a paper bag filled with fast-food in one hand, and a half-devoured cheeseburger in his other. Cas took another gigantic bite out of the burger, even though he still hadn't finished chewing the previous mouthful. "It's all starting to make sense," he said, words muffled by cheeseburger.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"What about that makes sense?" Sam asked, but Dean had barely registered Cas's actual words. He was more focused on the bag of burgers in Cas's arm. The weird look on Cas's face.</em>
      </p><p><em>Dean frowned. Something was…</em> off… <em>about Cas. And it wasn't even the fact that he was eating, which was weird simply by itself. Cas never ate. But there was something else, something in the edges of the angel's voice, in the raised eyebrows, in the animated expression… it reminded him oddly of—</em></p><p>
        <em>Jimmy??</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Hey, uh, Cas—" Dean began, then hesitated. He didn't know what to ask first. "When did you start eating?"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Cas's expression became, if possible, more exaggerated than before. He jabbed the almost-demolished burger at Dean, eyebrows raised above uncharacteristically wide eyes. "EXACTLY. My hunger—it's a clue, actually."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"For what?" </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Dean glanced over at his brother, amused. They'd both said the same thing at the same time. He remembered when Sam was younger, they'd say 'JINX' every time that happened. Sometimes, they'd say jinx at the same time too, in which case, they would immediately start off on a never ending repeating pattern of simultaneously saying the word jinx. Dean knew that wasn't how 'jinx' worked, but he couldn't have cared less. Sam loved it.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Cas stepped closer, burger still in hand. "This town is not suffering from some love-gone-wrong effect. It's suffering from hunger. Starvation, to be exact. Specifically… Famine."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>He was now only a few feet away and Dean could smell the burgers from within the bag—</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>(how many did he buy??)</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>—but strangely, he had never felt less hungry. The idea of eating a burger.. Even bacon… sounded just as unappetizing as digging into one of Sam's hippie Sarah McLachlan grass-eater-crap salads.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>So if the literal Famine was high-jacking the town's gluttonous streak… then why wasn't Dean the one digging into bags of burgers instead of Cas?</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Sam raised an eyebrow. "Famine. As in—as in the horseman?"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Great. Well that's—that's freakin' great," Dean threw up his hands, and began pacing about the room as he usually did when yet another world-changing issue had been added to the list.</em>
      </p><p><em>(—other people's to-do lists are like 'go to the store,' and 'do the laundry,' but </em>nooo, <em>not ours, no, OURS have things like 'Stop the friggin’ horseman of the apocalypse in order to steal his ring in order to trap Lucifer back in his cage so that he doesn't end the entire world.')</em></p><p>
        <em>Sam frowned. "I thought Famine meant starvation, like as in, you know. Food."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Right." Cas nodded attentively, eyes still unusually wide, as if he'd drunk an un-recommended dosage of Red Bull energy drinks and was riding a major caffeine high. "Yes. Absolutely. But not just food—"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>He dug a new burger out of the white paper bag and took a bite. "I mean, everyone seems to be starving for something—Sex, attention, drugs—"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Cas looked away from Sam for a moment, and met Dean's gaze across the room, blue eyes wide, but somehow, sadder than before. "—Love."</em>
      </p><p>Love? Why had Cas looked at him when he said that, as if he knew—</p><p>No. I’m not in love with anyone, so could I be hungering for it?</p><p>(—But you're not hungering for food, or sex, or drugs, or booze, so logically, the only thing left would be—)</p><p>
        <em>Dean shut down the nagging voice before it could promote further damage. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Okay, but what about you?" Dean stepped closer, examining the logo on the fast-food bag. "I mean, since when do angels secretly hunger for White Castle?"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Cas looked down instantly at the burger in his hand, swallowing roughly. He seemed almost disgusted by its presence, as if all appetite for red meat and pickles had disappeared along with Dean's words. His face softened into his usual expression, serious and quiet and so very familiar.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"…It's my vessel. Jimmy." His voice was quieter too. Deeper. "his, uh, appetite for red meat has been touched by Famine's effect."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Cas still wouldn't meet Dean's eyes. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"So what are you then, the Hamburglar?"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Frowning, Cas stuffed the last corner of his burger in the bag. "I've simply developed a taste for ground beef."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Well, have you even TRIED to stop it?" Dean insisted, almost amused by the angel's disgruntled tone. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"I'm an angel. I can stop anytime I want."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Dean tilted his head, suspicious. If Cas could stop anytime he wanted, then why hadn't he? It can't be extremely pleasant, to devour piles of 'molecules.'</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>So why, then? And how did the preference of a regular human—vessel-status regardless— infect a literal ANGEL to such a degree that said angel was now on his fourth burger in 10 minutes flat?</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Something wasn't adding up. Then again… why wasn't HE experiencing any symptoms? Or Sam? Speaking of—</em>
      </p><p>------------------------------</p><p>Sam stopped reading, as he didn't have any particular interest in reliving his withdrawal-from-demon-blood symptoms. </p><p>So Cas had used Jimmy's hunger as a cover up for his own hunger. </p><p>And Dean was obviously hungering for—</p><p>Sam gritted his teeth. <em>Don't think about, just DON'T picture that.</em></p><p>—for Cas. </p><p>
        <em>(—Purely analytical. This isn't weird. Just doing research!—)</em>
      </p><p>Sam shrugged his shoulders, shaking out his wrists and elbows. </p><p>So after that… he'd been locked up in the bathroom. Which hadn't worked, because two idiot demons came sticking their noses where they shouldn't have, and then he'd drunk their blood, and then headed out to find Dean and Cas, who were supposed to be killing Famine.</p><p>Time to find out what had happened while he'd been chained to the sink. Thank God—kinda literally—that this was the last section.</p><p>---------------------------------</p><p>
        <em>Dean stared out the window of the Impala, watching the raindrops slide in glistening trails against the glass, travelling, melding. Two drops merged into one, and disappeared beneath the window pane. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>They'd been sitting in the parking lot of the St. James Medical Center for about an hour now, waiting for a demon to come pick up Dr. Corman's soul in a briefcase. </em>
      </p><p>Man, our lives are weird.</p><p>
        <em>Actually, Dean was surprised at how quickly the time had flown by. Cas had accompanied him on the drive over, even though he could've just flown, and there was something exceptionally comforting about having the angel sitting shotgun. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Of course, the dork had been demolishing burgers the entire time, munching away happily, occasionally making a comment regarding the heavenly scent of tomato plant leaves, and if Dean had ever smelled one before, and the origin of using sesame seeds on burger buns, and a million other little burger-related facts, and if Dean didn't know better, he'd say that Cas was just bringing up these mundane topics to distract himself from the dangerous task ahead.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Or maybe Cas was just feeling extra chipper today. After eating literally nothing for his entire life, and then suddenly developing a taste for the second best food ever invented, it was no wonder the guy was acting more lively than usual. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>About six minutes ago, Cas had left to 'busy himself with a quick errand,' and although six minutes wasn't very long, Dean began to wonder if he should give the angel a call. Who knew what could happen? Anything, really. And the silence was stifling. If Cas wasn't back soon..</em>
      </p><p>Well, then I'll just drive to every burger joint in the town until I find him, <em>Dean decided.</em></p><p>
        <em>Dean wondered if Cas was paying for all the burgers he'd eaten… the dude didn't have any money. Maybe angels could conjure up money at will? Probably not. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>He should've offered his credit card or something. Not that it mattered, really. Cas had saved the world enough times to deserve a few burgers. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Cas deserved more than burgers. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Dean breathed deeply, staring off into the darkened parking lot. He wished he could give Cas more. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>More happiness, like Cas—or Jimmy—had felt today. He'd never seen Cas so talkative. It was… nice. But he wondered if it was real, or if Famine was simply bringing out aspects of Jimmy's humanity along with the cravings. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>There was a quiet flap of air, and Cas appeared in the seat once again, digging unconcernedly through a new paper bag full of burgers, unwrapping one so quickly Dean barely had time to process his arrival. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"Are you serious?"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Cas ignored him, biting into the burger with eager contentment, then chewed slowly with his eyes closed, savoring what must have been the hundredth burger today. Dean would have wondered how the angel wasn't sick of them by now, except that you can't get sick of burgers. Dean's diet was living proof of that.</em>
      </p><p><em>Cas hummed fondly, folding back the tin foil wrapping, as if he'd never seen anything more wonderful. "These make me…</em> very happy." </p><p>Is he SMILING? He's smiling. An angel is smiling… about a burger. <em>Dean rolled his eyes, and Cas took another large mouthful. The dude sure could pack it in. Dean frowned. "How many is that, anyway?"</em></p><p>
        <em>"Lost count," Cas shrugged, looking down at the burger. "It's in the low hundreds."</em>
      </p><p>Okaaaay then. <em>Dean whistled, half in surprise and half in appreciation, giving a quick look around the parking lot. Still nothing.</em></p><p>
        <em>"What I don't understand is… where is your hunger, Dean?" Castiel's voice was muffled due to the obscenely large amount of food he was trying to chew, but Dean got the gist.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Honestly, he had no idea. Ever since Cas had explained Famine's influence, he'd been wondering the same thing. Except, there was a tiny part of him that already knew the answer. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>A tiny part of him that knew he didn't want meaningless sex anymore. He'd spent his whole life over-drinking, falling asleep on cold floors scattered with beer bottles. He'd never been addicted to demon blood, like Sam, and as much as he hated to admit it: had never been as obsessed with burgers as Jimmy obviously was. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>So that left… love. Not even necessarily love with sex. Just… real love, deep and honest, and untainted by lies. But it was awfully hard to 'binge' on something like that. And he couldn't truly be hungry for something he'd never experienced.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Love wasn't something you could take. It was something you felt, slowly, and fully. At least, that's what Dean imagined it would be like. It was something that happened, that built itself upon thousands of tiny moments, shared memories…</em>
      </p><p>(—Nice timing Cas——can I tell you something if you promise not to tell another soul?——we're making it up as we go——I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition——I'll watch over you——I was getting too close to the humans in my charge——just so you understand… why I can't help——well last night on earth, what are your plans—)</p><p>
        <em>Love was the only thing he couldn't simply go out and get. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>But he couldn't dump all that on Cas. So he just shrugged, and gave an easy answer. "Hey, when I want a drink, I drink. When I want sex, I go get it. Same goes for a sandwich or a fight."</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Cas squinted at him, an expression in stark contrast with his more Jimmy-like mannerisms of late. "So… you're saying you're well-adjusted?"</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"God, no. I'm just well-fed."</em>
      </p><p>Well-fed on everything that doesn't matter. Well-fed on everything I'm not hungry for. </p><p>
        <em>Dean glanced over at Cas. The warm glow of the streetlamp reflected in the angel's blue eyes, and Dean wondered that its orange light could be so very close… yet simultaneously so very far away. </em>
      </p><p>---------------------------------</p><p>Sam slumped heavily in his chair, breathing out a truly exhausted sigh before shutting his laptop closed. He felt his eyelids flutter shut, then snapped them open again. </p><p>He'd found what he needed. Not a single lingering speck of doubt remained. </p><p>The other excerpts included sections from Purgatory, another weird alternate universe that Zachariah had shoved Dean into a long time ago, and a few pages from Castiel's point of view, when Dean was staying at Lisa's house.</p><p>No doubt: Sam was curious. But this research had crossed the line several hours ago, and Dean deserved to keep a few secrets. The guy had been through enough. It was about time both of those idiots got some happiness. </p><p><em>And</em>, Sam thought hazily before sinking his head into his folded arms, <em>it's about time I get some peace. </em></p><p>His phone read six in the morning. Charlie likely wouldn't be up until eight or so, giving them about four hours to find the notes before Cas would come to get Sam. </p><p>The bunker was quiet. Sam slept. </p><p>---------------------------------------------------------</p></div></div></div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. You Are the Reason</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Firstly, I'd like to say that almost none of this would have happened if it weren't for my absolutely awesome beta reader, Jupiticas. (Blu, if you're reading this: YOU'RE THE REASON THIS FIC JUST GOT A THOUSAND TIMES BETTER.)</p><p>And also, a thousand times more painful: but... isn't that what fanfiction is all about? *sad guilty laugh*</p><p>I can't thank you all enough, for your meaningful, thoughtful comments. You're the reason this fic is still going, the reason I've reached OVER 50K WORDS. It's more than I ever thought possible, and it exists because of you guys. And jupiticas, seriously, you've made me smile so much this past week, you've made me so very happy, and your comments, and your notes, and your reaction videos: you've made me happier than I've been in a long time, so thank you.</p><p>THANK YOU GUYS. </p><p>AND OF COURSE: PLEASE LEAVE A COMMENT BELOW, EVEN IF IT'S JUST JIBBERISH; THAT SHIT MAKES MY DAY, YA'LL. </p><p>thank you for your interest and support. Jupiticas, and you guys: ya'll are the reason I'm smiling right now. </p><p>CAN'T WAIT TO READ YOUR COMMENTS ON THIS CHAPTER.</p><p>:D :D </p><p>♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥</p>
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<p></p><div>
<p></p><div>
<p></p><div><p>It didn’t take long to set up the DVD player, and Cas wasn't back with the food yet, so Dean took off his extra jackets, throwing them on a nearby chair, and settled down on the bed, back pressed against the headboard. </p><p>
        <em>(—Dean you are everything—)</em>
      </p><p>What had Cas meant by that? </p><p>
        <em>(—you are everything—)</em>
      </p><p>Dean's heart still hadn't stopped pounding. He'd stood frozen, leaning against the car for what felt like hours, agonizing over Cas's words. Wondering. Wishing the angel had been just a little more clear. Why couldn't the dumbass just say something he could actually understand for once? Why did it all have to be poetry and eloquent speeches? </p><p>
        <em>(—Dean you are everything—)</em>
      </p><p>The words wouldn't stop repeating themselves in his head, again and again they circled, and still, Dean couldn't grasp their meaning. Their <em>real </em>meaning.</p><p>Because there was no way Cas meant… <em>that</em>. </p><p>No way. </p><p> Cas shouldn't have said those things. He shouldn't have said any of the things he'd said, because it was all <em>wrong</em>. </p><p>
        <em>I don't deserve to be forgiven.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>(—Dean you are everything—)</em>
      </p><p>Dean let his head tilt backwards against the hard bed frame, and closed his eyes. He could see it all, the stars reflected in the black of Baby's roof, the pleading softness in Cas's eyes, the tilted face, the words, those <em>damn </em>words and the feeling of hearing them…</p><p>Dean's chest clenched tightly as he remembered Cas's quiet voice, saying his name, and then the feeling of Cas's chest against his own, the feeling <em>of letting go,</em> of <em>just being held,</em> and Cas standing on his toes, legs pressed against Dean's, and..</p><p>Dean grit his teeth, forcing himself to hold back tears. It felt as if his lungs were being squeezed and shrunken with each short, stifled breath. </p><p>He wanted, more than anything, to let go, to stop hiding this side of himself. The side Cas had never seen, because Dean tried so desperately to lock it away. The side that could change everything, if Dean only let it.</p><p>And maybe that's why it felt so wrong to expose that side, because in his experience, change wasn't much of a good thing, and right now, Cas being here was the only thing that felt right, the only thing that felt normal.</p><p>It sounded absurd, finding normalcy in an Angel of the Lord. Finding comfort in his touch, fondness in his smile. Finding irritation in the roll of his eyes, and familiarity in his closeness. </p><p>And these things felt so good, so natural, but Dean knew he was only setting himself up for more pain, because Cas <em>wasn't </em>normal. Cas wasn't the sort of person—<em>the sort of cosmic being, rather</em>—that he should attach himself to.</p><p>It was so easy, to believe that Cas would stay around this time…</p><p>So easy to get attached to all the things that cannot stay.</p><p>
        <em>But why can't I just enjoy it while it lasts? </em>
      </p><p>Dean took a deep breath, and opened his eyes. Cas was here <em>now</em>. That's all that mattered. And someday, maybe he would look back on his weakness, and wish he'd had the strength to say goodbye instead of holding on. </p><p>
        <em>But I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. </em>
      </p><p>Until then…. </p><p><em>What? </em>An inner voice demanded. <em>What, you'll just keep ignoring these thoughts? These WANTS? You'll just keep stealing glances at Cas when he's not looking because that's the best you'll allow yourself to have? You'll just keep dying when he disappears, just keep telling yourself you'll 'say it next time,' you'll 'take the leap TOMORROW,' and then it's too late? Is that what you WANT?</em></p><p>"<em>Dammit</em>," Dean hissed, not caring that he was muttering to himself in an empty room. "Well then what am I supposed to do? I can't have what I want, and I'm not—" his voice broke, chest crumpling inwards. "—I'm never going to be able to tell him—I just—"</p><p>
        <em>I'd rather die before I tell him. Dying is easy. Telling him… and possibly losing him…I can't do that. </em>
      </p><p>Dean remembered all the times he'd had this exact conversation with himself. All the times Cas had said something like, like <em>that</em>—</p><p>
        <em>(—Dean you are everything—)</em>
      </p><p>Was it foolish to think that maybe…Cas had been trying to say something more?</p><p>
        <em>(—the things we’ve shared together, they have changed me. You’re my family. I love you. I love all of you——I won’t let you sacrifice yourselves. You mean too much to me, to everything——I'm going to find some way to redeem myself to you——You need to run now, I can't hold them back——please don't make my last moments be spent watching you die——everyone you love, they could be long dead. Everyone except me—)</em>
      </p><p><em>Don't do this, </em>another voice warned. <em>Don't think like that. Cas is just going to leave again, and it won't be his fault, it'll be yours. You've failed him, so many times. Just like you've failed every other goddamned person you care about. There's a reason you're alone, Dean Winchester. There's a reason everyone leaves you. </em></p><p><em>"Shut up,</em>" Dean buried his face in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut against the voice. His <em>father's </em>voice.</p><p>
        <em>You can't have him, son. You've never had him. You think he WANTS you? After everything you've put him through? After Rexford? After 'using and losing' him too many times to count? You think he feels something for YOU? A destructive, angry, broken BOY who kills everything he touches? You CORRUPT, Dean, you can't love—</em>
      </p><p>"I SAID SHUT UP!" Dean stood, slamming his fist through the lamp beside the bed, and it fell to the floor, the swirled glass shattering into multi-colored shards.</p><p>"Dean?"</p><p>Dean heard Cas's strained voice from the other side of the room, but he didn't turn around. There were tears running down his cheeks now, burning needles in his eyes. </p><p>"Dean? What happened? What's wrong?" </p><p>A warm hand on his shoulder. Cas was standing behind him, Dean could hear plastic bags rustling and suddenly noticed the scent of food wafting through the room.</p><p>"Cas, don't uh—don't step there." He swallowed, trying to sound less croaky. </p><p>Cas kept his hand in its place. "Dean I can fix the lamp easily, that's not what I'm worried about."</p><p>The lamp appeared in front of Dean on the bedside table, completely whole. Not a single piece of glass was left on the wood floor. </p><p>
        <em>If only other things could be fixed that easily. </em>
      </p><p>"<em>Dean</em>," Cas set the bags down on the floor, and turned him around firmly so they could face each other. His voice sounded a little higher than usual. Gentle. </p><p>
        <em>I don't deserve him.</em>
      </p><p>Dean stared down at the place where the lamp had been, ashamed of the obvious red swelling around his eyes. Cas was trying to help him, trying to see what was wrong, trying to fix it. </p><p>
        <em>Why am I like this? Why am I always that problem he has to fix?</em>
      </p><p>No. Dean took a breath, remembering who those words belonged to. They were not <em>his </em>words, they were not even Cas's words. </p><p>
        <em>(—Dean you are everything—)</em>
      </p><p>
        <strong>Those </strong>
        <em>were Cas's words. </em>
      </p><p>Dean took another breath, shoulders shaking underneath Cas's hands. He listened, but his Dad's voice didn't answer. For once, his mind felt quiet. </p><p>
        <em>Why should I listen to the man who beat me? The man who lied to me, used me, the man who couldn't accept who he'd become, so he forced his resentment onto his sons? The man who couldn't protect his family, so he destroyed it instead?</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Why should I listen to a dead man?</em>
      </p><p>The voice still hadn't resurfaced. And Dean felt the corners of his mouth lift, just slightly, but it was enough. </p><p>The quiet was relief enough. It would give him time to begin making sense of this confusing life, time to prove his dad wrong in every way possible, time to listen to the person he trusted, instead of the person he hated. </p><p>The quiet felt new, but so very welcome. Dean lifted his gaze to meet Cas's, eyes shining from the epiphany, relief and <em>feeling</em>, cascading through his chest, and with his knees weakening, he reached up a hand, laying it on top of Cas's warm fingers. </p><p>Cas's eyes widened at the touch, but he didn't flinch or move away. He only looked down at their entwined hands, seemingly mesmerized at the feeling of Dean's fingers in his. "<em>Dean</em>?" Short, and breathy, and oh-so-different from his usually graveled voice, that Dean almost melted from the sound of it. Almost told him everything.</p><p><em>But this is enough.</em> For now. "You are, too, y'know," Dean mumbled hastily, before the voice could make another surprise entrance.</p><p>Cas blinked, not understanding, and Dean pulled their hands from his shoulder, gripping them together tightly before speaking. "You, Cas. You're uh—" he cleared his throat, meeting the angel's gaze. "You're really important to me. You're family, <em>more </em>than…I want you to stay. I need you to stay. I just. Wanted you to know that."</p><p>Their faces were too close, and Dean wasn't ready. Not yet. Maybe soon. He gently pried his fingers away from Cas's hand, swallowing down his own self-disappointment, and headed to the bathroom to wash his face. </p><p>----------------------------------------</p><p>When he stepped out of the bathroom, Cas had laid out the food on their tiny dining table. </p><p>Dean frowned at the unfamiliar <em>things </em>sitting within the plastic to-go cartons. Something smelled… really weird. Which made sense, since it obviously wasn't burgers they were eating tonight. "Uh, Cas—" he raised an eyebrow. "What is all… <em>that</em>?"</p><p>Cas smiled happily, and it reminded Dean of the day the angel had watched Looney Tunes for the first time. "I wanted to get you something new, and also unusual, since you've eaten explicitly burgers for most of your life, and it is high time you—"</p><p>"<em>Cas</em>. What. Did you get."</p><p>"I purchased the three least ordered items on the menu," he stated simply.</p><p>Dean slapped a hand to his forehead. "<em>Dude</em>."</p><p>"I thought we could try something new tonight," Cas frowned, and honestly, he looked so adorable Dean didn't have the heart to complain. So he just sighed, and sat down at the table, much to Cas's obvious delight.</p><p>"Alright. So let's hear it. Whaddja get."</p><p>"The cashier gave me their ‘famous meatloaf,' some sweetbreads, and a turducken sandwich." </p><p>Dean almost laughed, imagining the look on that poor cashier's face. "Huh. Well, dig in, I guess."</p><p>Cas squinted at him apologetically. "Dean you know I don't eat."</p><p>"Aw, come on, seriously?" Dean scoffed. "You think I can eat all of this? No." He handed the turducken sandwich container to Cas. He'd had enough turducken for one lifetime, after all. "You got us into this, Guy Fieri, and no way do you get to back out now. So," he gestured at the sandwich sitting innocently in front of Cas. "Eat up."</p><p>Sighing, Cas gingerly picked up the sandwich in both hands, and Dean watched as he took a bite. He was chewing so seriously, Dean thought he could've fit right in with one of those foodie connoisseur judges on cooking competition shows. "Well?"</p><p>Cas grimaced, placing the sandwich back in its container and wiping his hands on a napkin. "I suppose you could say there is good reason for this particular item's unpopularity."</p><p>"Heh," Dean stared at the sandwich, almost wondering if it was going to start oozing gray slime in a minute or two. He was at least 98% sure it wouldn't… but still.</p><p>"Alright, your turn." Cas raised an eyebrow expectantly, and Dean shrugged, reaching for the meatloaf. Surprisingly, it was better than he'd expected. "Not too bad," Dean grinned. "Needs a little more seasoning, but all in all, I think I made the right choice."</p><p>Cas rolled his eyes at Dean's smug expression. "Everything is going to taste better to you than it does for me, Dean."</p><p>"I don't know man, I mean, personally, if I had to choose between eating something that tasted like molecules, or something that tasted like barf-soaked intestines, I'd go for the molecules." </p><p>"Why would you eat…barf-soaked intestines?"</p><p>Dean laughed through his mouth-full of meatloaf—which honestly tasted pretty good. "I wouldn't. I was just saying—ah never mind."</p><p>Cas folded his arms neatly on the table space in front of him, leaning slightly inwards. Dean suddenly realized how very, very close the angel's face was. Hell, they were literally touching shoes under the table. </p><p>
        <em>Who even builds a table this small??</em>
      </p><p>"You wanna try a bite of this?" Dean asked, jokingly, holding out a forkful of meatloaf. Yeah so what if the gesture was kinda flirtatious. The angel wouldn't understand the significance anyway, and Dean wasn't about to get scared off by somebody else's spit on his fork. Besides, Cas's spit was probably more hygienic than tap-water. </p><p>
        <em>I gotta stop thinking weird stuff like this.</em>
      </p><p>Cas squinted suspiciously at the fork in front of his face, and Dean chuckled. "It won't bite, buddy."</p><p>Cas leaned forward, closing his mouth around the fork, and Dean tried not to go wherever it was his mind wanted to go. </p><p>"Pretty good, huh?"</p><p>Cas shrugged. "Actually, it's not as molecular as other foods I've eaten. Less ingredients, perhaps. Do you want to try the sweetbreads?"</p><p>Dean grimaced at the third oddity on the table, which was, essentially, fried glands disguised with an appetizing name. "Well, can't back out now." He reached inside the container and pulled out one of the smaller greasy hunks. </p><p>"Cheers. I guess." Dean lifted his 'sweetbread' as if raising a glass of champagne, and took a bite. </p><p>The sweetbreads were ignored for the rest of the evening.</p><p>Dean finished most of the meatloaf on his own, before Cas brought a fourth container out of the bag. "OH yes," Dean grinned. "Man I'd almost forgotten." He dug a fork eagerly into the pie, and almost groaned with relief at the familiar sweet cherry flavor. Cas smiled, amused at Dean's obvious euphoria. </p><p>"Dean, can I ask you something?"</p><p>Dean barely looked up from the dessert. "Sure, buddy. What is it?"</p><p>"Why do you call me that?"</p><p><em>Well that was unexpected.</em> Dean frowned, a forkful of pie halfway to his mouth. Cas looked very serious about this, but he always looked serious about everything.</p><p>"Call you what?"</p><p>"You know." Cas scratched his head, almost awkwardly. "<em>buddy</em>. I've noticed that you've only ever called myself and Benny by that nickname. Not Sam. Or anyone else. I was just curious if it meant something that I'm not understanding."</p><p>Dean kept forgetting how very observant Cas could be. <em>Quiet people. Always listening and paying attention to every little thing.</em></p><p>"Well.." Dean stabbed his fork back into the pie, and considered. Cas was right. He hadn't realized it, really, until now, but he'd always reserved 'buddy' for Cas and Benny only. </p><p>Oh. And one other person. <em>Lee</em>. </p><p><em>Damn</em>. </p><p>Dean shook his head slowly. "Honestly, I don't know. If there's a hidden meaning, I wouldn't know it. I guess…" Dean shrugged, and picked up his fork again, flashing a grin at Cas. "I guess I just like you guys best, or something."</p><p>It was a joke, and an easy out, and Cas knew it. But thankfully, he let it slide. Dean didn't really want to go into the symptoms of internalized biphobia. </p><p>
        <em>—Holy shit. </em>
      </p><p>That was the… first time he'd actually truly admitted it to himself. The first time he'd even considered the word. Even if he hadn't said it out loud… </p><p>But if he was being honest with himself, <em>really </em>honest… that's what he was. </p><p>
        <em>I'm bi. Holy shit. I'm bi.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>No. no I can't be bi. Right?</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>It's just Cas, right?</em>
      </p><p>Only… it wasn't just Cas. There'd been Lee, obviously. And although Dean had been shoving it off as a mistake, an <em>experimental phase,</em> a small hidden part of himself knew that wasn't the whole truth. </p><p>It had always felt natural, building deep relationships with guys instead of women. Other than Lisa, he hadn't had a long-lasting relationship with a woman since… well, <em>ever</em>. Sure, he'd had plenty of one-night-stands with women, but he'd never felt a desire to build it into something else. Something deeper. </p><p>Never felt an emotional connection like he'd had with Lee. With Benny. With—</p><p>
        <em>Cas.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>How did I not see this sooner??</em>
      </p><p>Even with Amara, who was supposed to be his 'deepest desire, his one and only,' it had never felt real. More like a compulsory illusion. Amara was the direction he was supposed to walk towards, but he hadn't. Instead of chasing after Amara, he'd chased after Cas. He'd spent countless nights trying to find a way to expel Lucifer. Even more nights drowning in whiskey bottles, praying ceaselessly. Not to Amara. </p><p>To Cas.</p><p>It was Cas's name he'd screamed in that warehouse. Even though Amara had been right there. </p><p>It had <em>always been Cas.</em></p><p>Only he realized now that Cas hadn't been <em>the only one. </em></p><p>Cas was just the one who had woken him up. </p><p>A feeling of settled realization sank itself into Dean's chest. <em>If this is who I am… maybe it's not so crazy to believe that I can actually HAVE Cas. </em></p><p>
        <em>No, it's crazy. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>But what if I'm imagining all this? What if it's all fake, and a year from now, I'll look back on this moment and laugh because I wasn't- I wasn't— because it was never real. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>(there's only one way to know for sure—) </em>
      </p><p>Oh <em>HELL </em>no. Dean shoved the idea back into its box. <em>Not ready for that yet. </em></p><p>"So, Cas—" Dean started, then realized he didn't know what he'd planned on asking. "uhm—"</p><p>
        <em>(touch his hand again. Just reach out dammit and touch his hand, you coward. You've done it before, just—)</em>
      </p><p>"Whaddya want to watch first?"</p><p>"What are the options?"</p><p>
        <em>(How does he make a damn head tilt look so adorable. How.)</em>
      </p><p>Dean cleared his throat, and walked over to the short stack of movies. "We've got.. Tombstone, Back to the Future, Back to the Future three—"</p><p>"What about Back to the Future two?"</p><p>"Oh." Dean blinked down at the movies, and laughed sheepishly. "I guess I forgot that one. It doesn't matter, I can just explain the plot. Also got the Princess Bride."</p><p>He raised his eyebrows at Cas, who seemed to be rather conflicted about the choices. "Which one is <em>your </em>favorite, Dean?"</p><p>Dean smirked. "A favorite? Between these four classics? Not a chance. But since we don't want to spend all freakin’ night picking movies like a pair of teenagers…" he held up Tombstone, for Cas's approval. "How 'bout we just go with this one?"</p><p>Cas smiled inwardly. He'd known Dean would choose that one: it was the only Western film among the three. And if Cas knew anything about his best friend, it was his taste in genres. "Tombstone, it is," he nodded.</p><p><em>Cas is smiling,</em> Dean noticed, just the realization that Cas actually looked happy—truly happy— was enough to make himself grin all over again. </p><p>
        <em>I could get used to seeing that look on him. </em>
      </p><p>Realizing he was still wearing his jeans and boots, Dean walked to the bathroom with a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Usually, he slept in his clothes, sometimes even without getting under the bed covers. It saved the hassle of getting dressed if someone, or something, happened to break through their motel window in the middle of the night. And sleeping on top of the sheets had become almost habitual. <em>One less interference if you have to assume combat position,</em> his dad had said. </p><p>Plus, Dean had always enjoyed sleeping with the covers over his head as a kid. But his Dad had quickly discouraged that too, saying it blocked his hearing. </p><p>Dean had argued then, that he may as well just not sleep at all, at this rate, and his dad had retaliated with the usual <em>'would you rather' </em>question regarding Sammy's life, or sweet dreams. Their discussions had almost always ended with that question. Because there was nothing Dean could do to argue against it, and his Dad knew it. </p><p>When he returned from the bathroom, Cas had managed to set up the movie, and was now sitting in the tiny dining chair, happily analyzing the title screen. Dean walked over to the bed that was centered best in front of the TV, and was about to ask Cas to toss him the remote when he realized the angel was looking at him curiously.</p><p>"Dean, can I ask you something? It's odd." </p><p>Dean nodded, shifting onto the side of the bed so as to face Cas's chair. "Sure, buddy. Everything you say is odd anyway, so shoot." </p><p>Cas continued on with his question, ignoring the jibe at his innate odd-ness. </p><p>"Why do humans wear a separate, and very specific pair of clothes at night instead of simply sleeping in their usual apparel?"</p><p>Trying to hold back a laugh, Dean coughed into his arm, hiding an amused grin. "Gee, Cas, you weren't kidding. That's gotta be one of the weirdest questions yet. I mean—" he gestured vaguely at the angel's outfit, "there's no way you were able to sleep in that stuffy trenchcoat when <em>you </em>were human."</p><p>Cas blinked down at his coat, as if offended that Dean would dare insult its comfortability. "My trenchcoat was covered in blood and stains, so no, Dean, I didn't wear it at <em>any </em>time of the day."</p><p>"Okay, well…" Dean sighed. "You must have had clothing that you wore at night, I mean—you had that vest on during the day, you took that off at least, right?"</p><p>Cas shrugged his head slightly. "I didn't want to crease it. But other than the removal of the vest, I slept and worked in the same outfit."</p><p>"Really?"</p><p>Cas fidgeted awkwardly, as if embarrassed. "Dean… I didn't <em>have</em> any other clothes."</p><p>"-oh." Dean blinked, and tried to think of something else to say, but nothing could fix what he had done, no words could make up for how Cas had been forced to live.</p><p>He hated bringing up all of those memories again, hated remembering it was his fault in the first place that Cas had had to experience the consequences of being human. <em>Cas forgave me. It's over. He's here. And I'm never going to shove him out again.</em></p><p>Dean was so deeply buried in his thoughts he almost didn't realize Cas had started speaking again.</p><p>"I just don't understand why 'pajamas' are given such special treatment, when they are the same as any other article of clothing." Cas sounded actually frustrated. </p><p>
        <em>What a dork.</em>
      </p><p>Feeling lighter than he had in a long time, Dean stood up and jabbed a finger in Cas's direction. "Oh, buddy, now that's where you're wrong."</p><p>Dean walked over his duffle bag in the corner, and began rifling through the contents. He never had much, just a few extra shirts, jackets, some basic toiletries, some spare holy water in a flask and of course: a pistol, just in case he couldn't get to any other weapon in time. He dug to the bottom of the bag, pulling out another pair of pants and a t-shirt. Neither were as comfortable as the ones he was currently wearing, but they'd have to do. </p><p>At least until he could buy Cas his own pair.</p><p>"What are you doing?" </p><p>"Well," Dean stood up and held out the bundle of clothes towards Cas. "This is the sort of question that can't be answered with words. You're just going to have to experience it yourself. So," he shook the bundle until Cas reached out hesitantly, taking them between his hands. "Lucky I've got these."</p><p>"And it's a good thing we're about the same height. My sasquatch-of-a-brother's pants could probably pose as a friggin <em>dress </em>on you."</p><p>Cas retreated to the bathroom, glancing curiously behind him before shutting the door. Dean gave him a grin, and a thumbs up, and flopped back down on the bed stomach first, watching the title screen of <em>Tombstone</em>.</p><p>It wasn't longer than a minute before Cas stepped out of the tiny bathroom, trenchcoat folded neatly over one arm. It was the first time Dean had ever seen the angel wear a t-shirt, and it was odd, but… definitely not <em>unpleasant</em>. </p><p>The white of the shirt contrasted quite nicely with Cas's tan skin and dark, ruffled hair, which was sticking up in miniature cow-licks above both ears. It was kind of adorable.</p><p>Dean felt a hot tingling flush creep up his neck, the uncomfortably warm sensation settling like a blanket on his skin. He was suddenly very, <em>very </em>glad he'd decided to lay down on his stomach, instead of on his back. Things could've gotten rather awkward, rather quickly.</p><p>
        <em>Cas is wearing my clothes. Literally. Right now. </em>
      </p><p>Cas smiled innocently, and spread his arms as if showing off his new outfit. "All better?"</p><p>Dean's first answer came out as more of an incoherent squeak than a real word, so he gulped and nodded instead. </p><p>
        <em>Stop staring at him. Calm down. This. Is. Not. FUCKING. APPROPRIATE. </em>
      </p><p>Dean averted his eyes forcefully, and pointed to the chair where he had thrown his own jackets earlier. "You uh—" he cleared his throat, trying again. "You can put your coat there. If you want. For tonight."</p><p>Cas didn't seem to notice Dean's odd reaction, and walked casually over to the chair. It was kinda funny how gently the angel treated his coat, as if that old thing hadn't gone through the shredder and back multiple times. But Dean understood. They had so few things to call their own, and most of those things were weapons or hunter's gadgets of some sort. </p><p>So the items they did have, the ones that meant something… Dean's car. Cas's coat. Those were the things that mattered, in their own personal, strange way. Dean knew that Cas needed that coat, just as he needed his car. These things held memories, as well as mistakes; they acted as reminders of what they'd been through, and every time they'd died, or almost died, those things were still there waiting for them when they got back. So Cas cleaned the blood and the leviathan goo and the lake water from each thread as lovingly as Dean hammered back each dent in Baby's hood, replaced the toy soldiers in the cupholder and the Legos in the radiator. </p><p>They weren't sentimental people. But sometimes, when everything else went to shit, it was nice to have something concrete, something to solve and fix and repair when it seemed they couldn't fix anything else. </p><p>That was why Dean had kept the coat, after Cas had wandered into that lake. Even though it stank of swamp-water, and leviathan goo and blood. Even though he had to keep moving it around with each new car they 'borrowed.' It was the first thing he grabbed from the trunk, the first thing he made sure to have with him every time they changed cars. Not just because it mattered to him, but because WHEN Cas came back—as he knew he would—the dorky angel would need it, just as much as Dean needed his car. </p><p>So Dean didn't laugh when Cas lovingly smoothed down the sleeves and tucked the belt into place. If anything, the gesture felt a bit sad. And also… </p><p>Dean bit his lip, staring at the image of Cas's coat placed on the same chair as his cargo jackets. </p><p>
        <em>It's just a coat on a chair. No reason to get all weird. It doesn't affect me at all. Nope. Not one bit.</em>
      </p><p>Dean realized with a nervous pang that Cas was still hovering around the chair, obviously unsure of where to sit. </p><p><em>Ah, screw it,</em> Dean patted the other side of his bed and gestured at Cas. So what if he was feeling a bit reckless tonight? "Come over here. Best seat in the house."</p><p>Cas looked surprised at the offer, blue eyes widening slightly before he padded over to the bed, looking at it as if was going to eat him alive. Dean smirked, watching the angel awkwardly climb on top of the sheets. It was almost adorable, the way Cas huddled into himself, back straight against the headboard, hands folded in his lap, knees propped up. <em>Would </em>be adorable, if he didn't look so frickin terrified. </p><p>Dean frowned. "Man, you look like you're gonna fall off the edge of the bed. Come on—" he scooted over slightly to the right to give Cas some 'personal space.' As if the angel had ever cared about that before. </p><p>"I don't bite. Get your feathered ass over here."</p><p>Cas blinked, refusing to meet Dean's gaze, but shifted obligingly a whole three inches to the right. </p><p>
        <em>Why is he acting so squirrely? </em>
      </p><p>Dean eyed him suspiciously. Maybe talking would help. "so, whaddya think?"</p><p>Cas's head snapped up so fast Dean thought his vessel's neck would've cracked a bone, if Cas was human. "About what?"</p><p>"…about the <em>clothes</em>. Whaddja think I meant?"</p><p>"Oh." Cas visibly relaxed. "Nothing—The clothes are nice. Thank you Dean. I—I think I understand now, the appeal in wearing apparel specifically designed to promote comfort. I didn't think the difference would affect me, but… it's nice." </p><p>Dean returned the smile, feeling strangely satisfied that an Angel of the Lord found his clothes to be comfortable. "Toldja. If you want, you can keep em. I have a few more pairs at home."</p><p>Cas eyed him carefully, as if Dean had offered him the friggin’ Impala. "Are you sure?"</p><p>"Cas, it's the least I can do."</p><p>"<em>Oh</em>," Cas sighed, his shoulders sinking. "You're still talking about Rexford, aren't you. Dean I told you i—"</p><p>"No, no, I know," Dean assured him. "You forgave me. And I—Cas <em>I'm trying.</em> I really am. To forgive myself, I mean."</p><p>
        <em>I still don't deserve it, but I'm trying, Cas.</em>
      </p><p>"But that's not what this is about. You deserve to have something nice." </p><p>
        <em>You deserve to have everything, Cas. Everything you could ever want. And I wish I could give that to you.</em>
      </p><p>Dean scratched his head, feeling awkward in the silence, because he knew Cas was waiting, but there was something else he wanted to say before they started the movie. "-And, y'know, I was thinking…"</p><p>"…when we get back to the bunker, if you're still planning on staying—" Dean stammered, but Cas met his gaze with a calm nod.</p><p>"Of course, Dean. I promised I would."</p><p>The answer seemed to steal the weight from Dean's lungs, and he bit his lip to hold in a grin. "Right. Well I was thinking, your room. Now that you'll be staying there, it might be nice to make it yours."</p><p>"What do you mean?" </p><p>
        <em>That head tilt is gonna be the end of me.</em>
      </p><p>"Well—it should feel like your home. So, I don't know—what do you like? Plants? Rocks?" Dean remembered the satisfying excitement he'd felt, when they'd first moved into the bunker. The first time he'd had his own <em>room</em>, instead of just his own weirdly-patterned bed. He'd felt at home almost immediately, although it took Sam a while to stop considering the bunker as 'temporary.'</p><p>"Sam has like fifty-three bookshelves in his room, and I've got some old guns, a typewriter. Y'know," Dean shrugged. "The stuff that makes your room <em>yours</em>."</p><p>"Oh." Cas paused, considering. "I don't… honestly know. I've never really had a chance to discover my smaller interests. I like.. Bees, of course. And—"</p><p>He stopped himself, eyeing Dean hopefully. "Could I get a guinea pig?"</p><p>Dean bit back a laugh, barely holding it in. </p><p>
        <em>An Angel of the Lord wants to put HONEYBEES and a frickin GUINEA PIG in his room. What have I gotten myself into??</em>
      </p><p>But to Cas, he only chuckled and patted the angel's shoulder. "Sure buddy. <em>Not </em>the honeybees though. Those guys belong <em>outside</em>."</p><p>Cas hummed a small laugh. "I suppose it would not be practical to house honey bees inside. They would need to pollinate."</p><p>Dean took a breath to keep from snorting. "Um, sure. That and the fact that no one would want to go into your room for fear of being stung."</p><p>"Honeybees wouldn't hurt you Dean," Cas said, frowning. "Not unless you hurt them, and then I suppose you would deserve it."</p><p>"I would, huh," Dean teased.</p><p>The angel looked at him for a moment, that typical unreadable Cas-face, squinted eyes and head-tilt that Dean has long given up pretending doesn't drive him crazy. </p><p>The blue eyes blink, and the moment's over; Cas returned to staring at his hands, an innocent smile still lingering on the corners of his lips.</p><p><em>Cas is here. Cas is </em>HERE.</p><p>It feels a bit awkward, the same kind of awkward that had been lying over the room ever since Dean asked him to stay, but still, it's not <em>uncomfortable</em>. Cas looks so <em>natural</em>sitting next to him on the same bed, dark lashes lowered shyly, fidgeting with the corner of his sweatpants. </p><p><em>MY sweatpants</em>, Dean corrected himself, heart fluttering at the thought.</p><p>"So… how about we start the movie, huh?"</p><p>"Yes. And Dean…" </p><p>
        <em>Those damn blue eyes. Too much.</em>
      </p><p>".. thank you for the clothes."</p><p>Dean inhaled slowly, trying to think of an answer that didn't sound like another apology. "Don't mention it."</p><p>Cas nodded, knowing the struggle it took for Dean to 'forget and forgive,' himself, and handed over the remote. </p><p>"Seriously, though," Dean held up a warning finger. "Don't mention it. Sam'll never let me live it down," Dean grimaced, imagining the look on his brother's face. The teasing would never end. </p><p>Cas responded with a wry smile. "I wouldn't dream of it."</p><p>The first 20 minutes of the movie were awkward, Dean kept glancing over at Cas to see the angel's reactions. Of course, he needn't have worried, showing his favorite movie to someone who'd never watched it before, because it wasn't just <em>someone</em>, it was <em>Cas</em>.</p><p>Around half an hour, Dean relaxed, the tension in his chest draining away. Cas seemed to be enjoying the movie, in his own strange way, squinting intently at the screen, legs folded 'Indian' style, so enthralled in the plot his body had begun to lean ever so slightly forwards, as if trying to see through the TV and into the land of cowboys and criminals. </p><p>Dean held back a grin, suddenly reminded of a conversation he'd had with Cas a few months ago. </p><p>He'd been… jokingly pushing the angel to try on a pair of western raw-ride boots, and Cas had finally, begrudgingly, put them on. </p><p>Afterwards, Dean remembered, Cas had stood there like an awkward teenager being forced to wear a tuxedo, the bottoms of his pants tucked sloppily into the boots, much to Dean's amusement. And it was then, in that moment, that Dean had almost kissed him.</p><p>He'd shoved away the urge, obviously, laughed it off as a reaction to his secret fetish. That's all it had been. He'd have reacted the same even if a <em>stranger </em>had been wearing the boots. At least, that's what he'd told himself.</p><p>But he knew now, it wasn't so much the boots, or the adorable look of exasperation on the angel's face.</p><p>It was more the fact that Cas had done it solely to please Dean. Trying on the boots would not save the world. It would not solve a case, or rescue a victim. It was nothing but an embarrassing joke, and yet, Dean had asked. And Cas had done it.</p><p>He wondered if Cas still remembered that moment. </p><p>Val Kilmer was stepping out from under the trees, smoking a cigarette, and Dean smiled a bit at the famous line. <em>"I'm your huckleberry."</em></p><p>"What does that mean?" Cas turned his head away from the screen to ask, shifting his weight slightly. Dean almost didn't register the question, as it was suddenly very difficult to concentrate with Cas's warm knee pressing into his thigh. </p><p>"It—heh. It means 'I'm your man.' Like, 'I'm the man you're looking for.' Sometimes, though, it referred to a significant other. "</p><p>
        <em>Why did I say that? </em>
      </p><p>"Oh." Cas fixed his attention back to the screen, and Dean was amused to notice that for once, the angel had <em>horrible </em>posture. Chest bent inwards, propping his elbows on each bent knee, his neck tilting back. If Cas wasn't an angel, that position would <em>definitely </em>cause some spinal aches. </p><p>"If you like cowboys so much, why don't you wear cowboy hats or boots?" Cas asked, still not taking his eyes away from the TV. </p><p>Usually, Dean would prefer to watch a movie without dozens of questions. But he'd seen this particular film about eight times, and besides. It's <em>Cas</em>. So he shrugged, sneaking a look at Cas's focused countenance.</p><p>"I don't know. It's not really socially acceptable, to wear western outfits out in public. Not unless you're down in Texas, or you have a career as a rodeo star or something."</p><p>Cas squinted, still staring at the screen. It was coming up to one of Dean's favorite parts, the infamous fast-draw showdown between Doc Holliday and Johnny Ringo.</p><p>"But you enjoy wearing those clothes?"</p><p>"I—yeah, I guess so," Dean said. </p><p>"And you like cowboys."</p><p>Dean frowned, puzzled by Cas's odd questions. "I mean, yeah. Why all the questions, Cas? You want to dress up as a cowboy again or something?"</p><p>
        <em>Is he… blushing? </em>
      </p><p>Dean raised his eyebrows, and playfully jabbed at the angel's bare arm, prompting an indignant squint from Cas. </p><p>"No, Dean," he shifted his position yet again, this time inching just barely towards Dean's side of the bed. "One time wearing those ridiculous boots was enough for me."</p><p>"Aw, come one." Dean grinned smugly. "You loved it, and you know it."</p><p>Cas raised an eyebrow. "Actually, I think <em>you </em>were the one who enjoyed it."</p><p>Dean bit his lip, stifling the snarky flirtatious answer that instinctively came to mind. <em>Cas wouldn't understand it anyway.</em></p><p>Instead, he smiled as Cas rolled his eyes and returned to the movie. Dean felt a spreading, welcoming warmth filling within the confines of his body. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this… <em>happy</em>. </p><p>The rest of the movie seemed dull, compared to watching Cas. Cas's reactions, his small, lifted smiles, his quiet laughs—when he actually understood the joke, that is—his focused, earnest attention to every little detail…</p><p>It was almost too much, too much for Dean to soak in, and he spent the rest of the movie sneaking glances at the angel sitting across from him, at the blue eyes filled with life, at the ruffled dark hair, still sticking up oddly around the ears. At the soft shirt—<em>his </em>shirt—draped across Cas's back: a back that had once held wings. He memorized the curves of Cas's fingers, the gently curled hands that had once pulled a man from Hell, the hands that had pieced that man back together, from the smallest toenail to the tiniest freckle. </p><p>There were so many little things Dean saw, learned, and he wanted to remember every single one. </p><p>He learned that Cas liked to fiddle absently with the cloth of his sweatpants, that his back would tense and straighten when the movie reached a climactic point. </p><p>He learned that Cas had many different kinds of smiles: the slow, soft, creeping smile that never reached full potential, but lingered on for several minutes before fading. The split-second smile, arriving quickly with a quirk of the lips, then disintegrating. The secret kind of smile, that was pointed towards Dean, small and content, peaceful because they were here together, sharing in this memory that no one else would ever know about.</p><p>And watching Cas, Dean remembered something he'd read a long while ago.</p><p>
        <em>"The literal meaning of life is whatever you're doing that prevents you from killing yourself."</em>
      </p><p>Dean remembered all the times Cas had left him, died for him, and more than that he remembered all the months after. How many times he'd stared at himself in the bathroom mirror, seeing Cas's face streaked with black veins, stumbling into that lake, Cas's face bloody and torn, beaten by his own corrupt hands. </p><p>Cas's face, calm and cold, and that was the worst by far because even though it had been Lucifer who'd stabbed him, it was Dean who had to carry the still-warm body. Dean who had to place his best friend, limp and unmoving, on that table, and it had been Dean who sat there, by a dead angel's side for hours, staring into the face of perfect calm, and realizing it was the most peaceful Cas had looked in a long time.</p><p>And that was what hurt the most, because maybe Cas had finally been at peace, but Dean was the one left behind with all the memories of their arguments, all the times he'd <em>poisoned </em>and <em>taken </em>Cas's peace. </p><p>
        <em>Is he happier without me? Does he even want to come back?</em>
      </p><p>These were the thoughts which stole Dean's sleep. The thoughts that whispered truths:</p><p>
        <em>Maybe he's happier without me, but I can't live without him. And maybe I'm damned selfish, but that's the way it is. </em>
      </p><p>The thoughts that left him gasping, bent over in a pile of whiskey bottles, pointless prayers screaming ceaselessly through his exhausted mind, until he'd fallen dizzy and unconscious to the floor.</p><p>It was after Cas died, that Dean knew how it felt to be a ghost. Chasing his past, fighting for one chance to say all the things he'd never said, all the things he'd put off for another day. </p><p>
        <em>His own unfinished business. </em>
      </p><p>Living for revenge, for closure. Sleep was a luxury, food was unnecessary, just as long as he had a copious amount of beer bottles in the fridge, and as for life, <em>living</em>—well.</p><p>Life felt more like being lost in some spiral of obsessions that he didn't expect, didn't <em>want</em>, to escape from alive.</p><p>His days became a monotonous nightmare, created out of constant prayers and endless regrets. Going nowhere. From nowhere. Stuck in his one addiction to <em>save Cas</em>, to take back his love that had numbed him to all else. </p><p>It was in those times, of being a ghost, that Dean wondered how others could still be so passionate about this <em>thing </em>called <em>life</em>. </p><p>It would have been so very easy. <em>Too </em>easy. He had plenty of weapons after all, and he knew which ones would bring death quickly. A pistol to the head was the best option. </p><p>But sometimes, on especially drunken, sleepless nights, he wondered if a pistol would be too quick. If perhaps, he deserved something slower. And he would consider the many knives, the little cuts he could create, knowing that if he did it slow enough, maybe the pain would make up for everything he'd done to Cas.</p><p>But then he remembered his purpose for still living, his <em>unfinished business.</em> Maybe he deserved to die, but Cas didn't deserve to stay dead.</p><p>
        <em>"The literal meaning of life is whatever you're doing that prevents you from killing yourself."</em>
      </p><p>Cas had always been that <em>reason</em>. The reason Dean was sitting here, still breathing, on this bed right now. </p><p>Dean's hands shook, knowing that without Cas, he'd have lost the will to live a long time ago. What was there to live for, as a hunter: knowing that your life would be filled with pain and constant work and bloodshed equal to that of a battlefield, and then eventually: to die, leaving behind an unchanged world, because no matter how many monsters he'd killed, there would always be <em>more</em>. </p><p>And sure, he'd had Sam. But Sam didn't want the life either. And a small dark part of Dean's mind knew that Sammy would be okay, if his big brother died. Sammy could move on, get the life he'd always wanted, with a wife and 1.5 kids, and maybe Sam would even be <em>relieved</em>, because the ball and chain of 'family' had died with Dean. </p><p>But Cas…. Well. Dean's death wouldn't be of assistance to an angel who had given everything to save his life. Cas needed him to stay around, because when it came down to it, Cas <em>had </em>no one else. He'd <em>given up</em> everyone else, and so suicide seemed like a pretty ungrateful thing to do.</p><p>
        <em>(—I rebelled for this?! So that you could surrender to them? I gave EVERYTHING for you, and this is what you give me?!—)</em>
      </p><p>As long as Cas was around, Dean had a reason to keep fighting. Sam would move on, Charlie, Garth, Rowena, they'd be okay. Everyone else was dead already. </p><p>But a fallen angel, who had defied heaven… left alone without the man he'd fallen for… he would have been stuck in a place he didn't belong, surrounded by other places he couldn't go back to, because his one anchor had slipped away. </p><p>Slowly, without knowing it, Dean had become Cas's reason. And Cas had become <em>his</em>. </p><p>Dean was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice when the credits started rolling. Cas reached over Dean's lap for the remote, and with that one little motion, Dean knew it was all over. He felt his hand snap out to grab Cas's wrist, and it was like he had no control, like he was only an observer inside his own body's reckless instinct, heart pounding so quickly he wondered if Cas could hear it, being so close.</p><p>Cas flinched backwards, the top of his dark, tousled head tickling Dean's chin, and Dean realized that suddenly reaching out to grip someone's wrist, with no prior warning, probably wasn't the smoothest thing he'd ever done.</p><p>"Sorry," he muttered, noticing Cas's widened eyes focused unblinkingly upon Dean's death-grip. But Dean didn't let go. He'd made that mistake too many times already. </p><p>Instead, he moved his hand downwards, folding his fingers between Cas's, and shifted around on the bed so he could look the angel in the face. </p><p>"<em>Dean</em>," Cas whispered, face tightening, and Dean could feel the hand in his quivering slightly. </p><p>
        <em>As if he's terrified. </em>
      </p><p>Well… Dean ignored the thought, forcing himself to grip the warm hand more tightly than before, folding it within both of his own. <em>So what if he's scared. I'm scared too.</em></p><p>He gulped, chest pounding frantically, urging him to <em>turn back, go back now, before it's too late, before you change EVERYTHING.</em></p><p><em>But I WANT to change everything,</em> Dean realized. </p><p>
        <em>And I don't want to hide this anymore, dammit. I want to drag it out into the open, and make everyone look at it, and I want Cas to hear me say these things.</em>
      </p><p>It felt as a fire was smoldering within his brain, baking his thoughts and words until he wondered if he would actually be able to form a coherent sentence.</p><p>
        <em>This is Cas. </em>
      </p><p>Dean took a deep, shaky breath. </p><p>"<em>Cas</em>, I—" the words stuck inside his throat, and Dean coughed out a weak laugh. </p><p>
        <em>Dammit, I can do this. Get a grip. Take a breath.</em>
      </p><p>It didn't help, the way Cas looked so fucking terrified. It wasn't quite the expression Dean had expected, but it was too late to back out now. </p><p>He cleared his throat, and started over, tracing circles over Cas's thumb as a calming distraction, mind racing with everything he wanted to say. </p><p>
        <em>This isn't about apologies. This is about the truth, this is about fixing everything I've broken, fixing it for GOOD, this is about starting over, and making a new beginning for us.</em>
      </p><p>He bit the inside of his cheek, focusing on Cas's soft fingers, the warmth…</p><p>"Cas…I never thought- I never thought good things could happen to me." </p><p>
        <em>It's a start. </em>
      </p><p>"But you happened. Cas<em> you're my good thing</em>—"</p><p>Dean didn't dare look up, for fear of seeing Cas’s face. </p><p>
        <em>I can’t stop now, not after I’ve come this far. </em>
      </p><p>He could already feel the prickling heat, the beginnings of tears, either from relief or from nerves, he couldn’t tell. </p><p>
        <em>I'm saying this, because it needs to be said. Fuck the consequences.</em>
      </p><p>"-You happened to me. And dammit," he huffed out a small, disbelieving laugh. "I still don't see how I could possibly deserve you but here I am and I'm hoping…" </p><p>Cas's hand was still shaking, and Dean squeezed their fingers together, praying Cas would understand what he was trying so desperately to say.</p><p>"…I’m hoping you can keep being the good in my life."</p><p>"<em>Dean, I</em>—"</p><p>The pleading in Cas's voice almost froze him right then and there, almost made him let go. Dean held on tighter.</p><p>
        <em>It feels good, not to let go.</em>
      </p><p>"and I'm sorry it took me till now to say it," Dean's words had by now faded to whispers, but the room was quiet, and this wasn't the sort of thing that required volume to create meaning.</p><p>"<em>please, Dean, don't do this,</em> I don't want to leave, you don't understand—" Cas tried to pull away, and Dean looked up finally. The look on Cas's stricken face made him want to run out the door, and it took all his strength to hold on, pleadingly pulling Cas's hand back towards his own. He didn't have time to figure out what Cas meant by his strange words.</p><p>"No, <em>no</em>, I need you to hear this. I'm begging you, man. Stay." </p><p><em>Why is he doing that?</em> Cas was frantically glancing around the room, as if terrified something would pop out from under the mini table. </p><p>"<em>Hey</em>, hey <em>buddy</em>—" Dean reached up, cupping Cas's jaw with his hand, rubbing soothing circles along the angel's cheek. It was the closest, and most intimate gesture he'd ever dared, but Cas seemed to visibly calm down, giving in to Dean's touch, blinking quickly as if forcing away tears.</p><p>He still looked horribly sad, and Dean lifted the angel's chin, staring into the ocean eyes, trying to tell him <em>it's okay. I'm here. I'm okay with this. This is good.</em></p><p>"You good?" </p><p>Cas closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again, shoulders shaking from some inner struggle Dean wished he could understand, wished he could fix. "Yes." A resigned whisper, barely audible.</p><p>Dean forced a relieved breath, a small worried smile. "Good, cause you were kinda scaring me for a minute there. So.. Can I- can I keep going?"</p><p>Cas nodded, but Dean thought he could see a shining wetness in the angel's eyes that hadn't been there before. </p><p>
        <em>I just need to keep going.</em>
      </p><p>"When I was little- I thought love, romantic love was about red roses and expensive dinners. And then I got older, and I started thinking love was just… wanting to— y'know." He raised a suggestive eyebrow at Cas, who of course, only looked more confused.</p><p>
        <em>Gonna make me spell it all out aren't you, Cas. </em>
      </p><p>"<em>Sex</em>, Cas," Dean sighed. "I thought love was about wanting to have sex."</p><p>Cas nodded in understanding, and Dean continued. "but- truth is… love is just stuff like <em>this</em>. It's… sharing our favorite songs, and talking about the things we've been through, and teaching each other new things, and helping each other out of stupid situations." </p><p>"It's making fun of each other and getting in fights that- that I'll never forgive myself for, no matter what you say, because I <em>can't take it all back.</em> I can't- I can't <em>fix </em>what I've done to you Cas, I know that. And I can't go back and tell my past self to stop being such an asshole, to stop wasting all those years when we could've had—"</p><p>"-when we could've had so <em>damn </em>much."</p><p>Cas's quivering hand was now gripping onto Dean's, like a child terrified of drowning, and Dean wondered how an angel could look so <em>small</em>. </p><p><em>What is he LOOKING for?</em> Cas's eyes hadn't stopped scanning the room, flickering between Dean's face, their entwined hands, and then back at the wall, the table, the floor, the door.</p><p><em>And I thought</em> I <em>would be the jumpy one. </em></p><p>"And…" Dean hated the quaking breaks in his voice, the way his heart wouldn't stop trying to burst through his ribcage. But he loved it all the same, because it meant <em>this was real.</em> It meant that he was <em>finally doing it. Finally saying it. </em></p><p>"-and I spent my whole life, feeling like I had this, this <em>hole </em>in my gut. Like I was missing something- and I didn't know what, but you know what it was?"</p><p>Cas swallowed roughly, and Dean thought he could see one tear fall fast and sudden off the angel's cheek, landing soundlessly on their folded hands. </p><p>"<em>It was you, Cas</em>. It was <em>always </em>you. And I—"</p><p>
        <em>(I need you— I'd rather have you—I'm not leaving here without you—you're family—I prayed to you every night—)</em>
      </p><p>Dean looked straight at Castiel, his best friend, the one he <em>loved</em>, and gripped him tightly, held him with all the strength he had because he didn't know how much longer he would have the chance to do so. The truth, all of it, was pouring out of him, he couldn't stop it, and this would either be the end, or the beginning. Cas would know everything. </p><p>"Cas…"</p><p>
        <em>"-I love you." </em>
      </p><p>Cas made a soft noise in the back of his throat, a stifled sob, as if he'd known this was coming and couldn't keep in the tears any longer.</p><p>"I can't- I can't help it. And I just needed you to hear it, and you don't have to say anything, I just wanted you to know—"</p><p><em>"Dean, please,</em> stop, <em>I can't</em>—" Cas was visibly crying now, and he removed his hands from Dean's, hastily wiping away the tears as if humiliated by their presence.</p><p>The whispered words felt like a knife to the gut, and Dean flinched, pulling away as if burned. There would be no happiness for him, he had been foolish to expect anything different. Foolish to assume Cas might feel the same way, might want the same things. </p><p>But still, even seeing Cas's reaction, Dean couldn't regret his words. His truth. The things left unsaid stay with us forever, but the truth, once revealed… Dean could do nothing but pray in agony for the rest of his life that it could all be forgotten: forget the realization, the knowledge that his truth was the most unfortunate and self-destructive thing he possessed, for it could never be healed or changed or realized. Only opened, and torn into with ferocity and inevitable disappointment.</p><p>He knew now, he had been selfish, to show his truth to Cas, but he hadn't had it in him to keep his secret a secret any longer. He only hoped Cas would forgive him, and be able to move on. </p><p>Dean watched the shaking angel, watched him whispering, and he thought he could hear his own name over and over again.</p><p>
        <em>"Dean, please, Dean I can't…"</em>
      </p><p>Dean couldn't move.</p><p>
        <em>So I was wrong. </em>
      </p><p>This was a new type of epiphany. Dean wondered, already feeling empty, how long it would take for this feeling to go away. How many drinks it would take to forget this moment. How much pain he had just set himself up for, and how long it would be until this clenching wound in his stomach would finally unravel into a blank, numb <em>nothingness</em>. </p><p>But he hadn't said these words for himself. He'd said them for Cas. And if Cas didn't feel the same way, Dean could accept that. And he would try to fix what he'd broken, even if it might take years to get their friendship back. </p><p><em>I'm so sorry Cas, I ruined everything again, and I'm so sorry. I'm going to fix this</em>. </p><p>So Dean shoved away the pain, as far back as he could reach. He scooted closer to Cas, gently wiped away the angel's tears, and without another word, laid Castiel back onto the bed. He adjusted the pillows, and unfolded the blanket. He wrapped it tightly around Cas's shivering body. </p><p>In the morning, things would be different. Strained. But for now, Dean could at least offer comfort. </p><p>He pulled the blanket over both of them, wrapping his arms around the sobbing angel, and when Cas gripped his hand, Dean didn't wonder if it was a good sign. Cas had given his answer, and if Cas needed a hand to hold to make it through the damage Dean had once again inflicted… then so be it. </p><p>
        <em>I love you Cas. So much. </em>
      </p><p>Somehow, Dean slept. He fell quickly and dreamlessly, and with each missed heartbeat, each shortened breath, came emptiness from within, cascading through his body in dreamless, invasive unconsciousness. </p><p>Somehow Dean slept. But it was good. At least in sleep, he could feel nothing.</p><p>
        <em>Nothing at all.</em>
      </p></div></div></div>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Right Where You Left Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>I know IT'S SHORT I'M SORRY.</p><p>the next chapter is going to take a little while to write, but I am SO FRICKING happy to announce that my awesome friend and beta reader, Jupiticas, will be adding in some of their own written scenes!! So: VERY EXCITED FOR THAT. It's going to be worth the wait, I promise.</p><p>ENJOY THE PAIN AAAAAAAHAHHA.</p><p>Love you guys, thank you for all your brilliant, thoughtful, wonderful comments. You make me smile so much, I can't thank ya enough. </p><p>Leave your thoughts below, but I warn you: I will not be giving away spoilers ;) I can only promise a happy ending</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean woke up on the very edge of the bed, face turned towards his nightstand. He felt the morning light trying to seep under his eyelids, and pulled the covers over his face, squeezing both eyes shut.</p><p>
  <em>Not yet. Just a little longer. Please not yet.</em>
</p><p>He'd been having a dream. A nice dream, with Cas. They'd been… sitting at the ocean. No, a beach. It had been warm, the sun turning their skin pink, toes buried in hot sand, gulls screeching overhead.</p><p>Dean thought he could still smell the salty breeze, the repetitive, soothing rush of the crashing waves…</p><p>His eyes stayed closed. His fist curled blindly around the corner of the blanket, holding, gripping. His eyelids fluttered, instinctively desiring wakefulness, desiring <em>sight, </em>but Dean squeezed them shut, curling into himself, because maybe if Cas thought he was asleep, maybe they could postpone the day.</p><p>Maybe he could pretend he was still drifting in darkness, in undemanding, unconditional unconsciousness. So unlike the day, with all its consequences. Sleep had been freeing, the darkness claiming everything and everyone, and in its quiet muffling stillness, Dean had almost been able to forget.</p><p>
  <em>"I love you."</em>
</p><p>The memories from the night before crashed through the wall in his mind, leaving Dean helpless to their agonizing torment, their punishment pressed down on his chest, his lungs, his body, leaving him suffocating and gasping muffled breaths of remembrance into his hand, trying to stifle the panic.</p><p>He knew Cas didn't sleep, so he had to be quiet, had to be still. He'd already given Cas enough to worry about.</p><p>
  <em>No matter what I feel, I have to put it away. Cas needs me to be okay, he needs me to leave him alone, and act as normal as possible. I can't remind him of what I said, because if I do—</em>
</p><p>Dean took a quiet, rattling breath. It was so early, and yet the <em>guilt </em>had already sunk its claws into his throat. Dean tried to swallow, and couldn't. He tried to breathe, but the blankets were suffocating.</p><p>
  <em>If I do remind him… if I bring it up, what I said: he'll leave me, I know it. I've broken everything again, and this time I'm not leaving the mess for Cas to pick up. I'm going to fix this. I'm going to STOW my CRAP, and be his damn friend, because that's the only thing I'll get.</em>
</p><p>Dean dreaded it. Turning over. Seeing Cas's face. He wanted nothing more than to just stop existing. That would be simplest. Easier for everyone.</p><p>
  <em>To just stop existing. To have quiet and emptiness and peace.</em>
</p><p>It would be so much easier to non-exist in a world just as blank and empty as himself, to drift about and feel <em>nothing.</em></p><p>
  <em>Cas needs me to do this. To turn over, and face the day.</em>
</p><p>Dean felt heat prickling at the corners of his eyes, imagining the look that would reside on Cas's face for who-knew-how-long. A look of pity, guilt, for not being able to return Dean's words in the way Dean wished to hear them.</p><p>His chest shuddered, but his hands still had strength. He pulled the sheets off his face, curling them downwards, and slowly heaved himself sideways onto his elbow. His eyes fell upon the bedside table, but—something was missing.</p><p>
  <em>Wasn't there a lamp there?</em>
</p><p>Dean frowned, leaning over the side of the bed to peer at the floor.</p><p>The lamp, so easily repaired by Castiel's own hands just the night before, now lay once again in broken shards upon the carpet. Dean saw now, the rainbow-colored swirls of stained-glass that made up the body of the lamp, their iridescent colors glinting sharply in the cast morning light.</p><p>He could've sworn there had only been orange and red swirls the night before, the colors shaped like flames, reaching up in deadly tendrils towards the glowing lightbulb: a mosaic of hellfire only inches away from engulfing the lamp. </p><p>Apparently, the inside of the lamp had been made from cooler colors: blues, greens, purples, so that now, the pile of shards displayed a rainbow of hues.</p><p>"Cas, what—"</p><p>Dean sat up fully, the covers shifting off his chest, and turned around to face the angel.</p><p>He felt physically sick.</p><p>The other side of the large bed remained smooth and cold, covers folded neatly under a straightened pillow.</p><p>"<em>Cas</em>-?—' Dean breathed, heart racing, the sick feeling twisting knots in his gut.</p><p>
  <em>He LEFT me. He promised to stay, and he left.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(—well what did you expect, son? That's what you get for being what you are. That's what you get for telling an Angel of the Lord your sick, twisted little secrets—)</em>
</p><p>
  <em>—No, no, please no, please I can't take this, please Cas—</em>
</p><p>In a panic, Dean checked under the pillow for a note, for <em>anything. </em>He ripped off the sheets, throwing them to the floor. <em>Nothing. </em>He flipped the mattress, <em>both </em>mattresses, checked the table, the bathroom, the window, the floor. <em>Nothing.</em></p><p>No note. No blood. No trace of the angel he'd held all night long, the angel who had sobbed himself into restless silence, the angel who had gripped his hand until Dean fell into sleep, just hours ago.</p><p>"<em>CAS!" </em>Dean ran outside, cocked pistol in one hand, angel blade in the other. For a fleeting, ridiculous moment, he wondered what the neighbors would think: him running around in pajamas with a knife and a gun, shouting one name again and again.</p><p>Then the embarrassment passed, and with it, his sanity.</p><p><em>"Cas, you SON OF A BITCH," </em>Dean shouted, on the verge of fainting. The blood was rushing to his head, the asphalt swirled before his eyes, and he didn't know if it was because of dizziness or because of the tears now steadily trailing hot streaks down his face.</p><p>He finally fell, choking down the words he couldn't speak, his knees hit the hard concrete, knife and gun clattering to the ground.</p><p>The voice was back with vengeance, Cas was gone, and Dean wished then, face buried in his shaking hands, sobs building and building in a crescendo of unquenchable gasps for air, he wished to die.</p><p>
  <em>—anyone, please, just please end this, I'm done, just let me be done.</em>
</p><p>The waves crashed over him, dangerous, quiet, suffocating.</p><p>
  <em>I'm drowning, I must be drowning, why aren't I dead?</em>
</p><p>Dean felt no breath enter his lungs, wondered if maybe some merciful being had taken pity on his existence, and decided to grant his wish.</p><p>He'd died enough times to know what it felt like though, and this—</p><p>
  <em>This is so much worse.</em>
</p><p>Dean knew, logically, that he couldn't keep kneeling in the parking lot of a motel, surrounded by dangerous weapons. He also knew that he didn't really care if someone called the police. Maybe he could do something bad enough when the police arrived, that they'd <em>have </em>to kill him. And then it could be over.</p><p>Not the kind of death he'd expected, but it was better than going back into the empty motel room.</p><p>Dean felt the voice surging forwards again, eagerly reaching out to snag him in his weakened state.</p><p>A frenzied, unthinking madness seared through his hands, and grabbing up the weapons, Dean stumbled towards the front door of his room. Once, twice, eleven times, he stabbed the blade through the door. When that ceased to hold the voice back, Dean used his fists, punched them relentlessly against the wood until each knuckle was dripping blood. Still he kept swinging, stopping only when the dizziness took hold, and he fell against the door, back sliding down the punctured, bloody surface. He imagined the red smears on the back of his jacket, and felt a flicker of satisfaction at having finally created a mess he could <em>fix</em>.</p><p>In the back of his mind, he knew he'd probably broken at least a few fingers. He knew he wouldn't be able to grip anything for at least a week. Not without Cas here to heal him.</p><p>But the physical pain felt so distant, so insignificant, compared to the pounding, throbbing thoughts.</p><p>So Dean squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the world and the pain, and he prayed.</p><p><em>Cas you </em>left me<em> and you </em>PROMISED<em>.</em></p><p>
  <em>YOU PROMISED YOU WOULD STAY and NOW I'M ALONE.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>AND I NEED YOU CAS, I NEED YOU I'M SORRY, PLEASE.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Cas-"</em>
</p><p>The name leaked out in a whisper, and Dean spoke the rest of the prayer aloud because, in some strange way, it helped to hear something besides his own stifled gasps.</p><p>"Cas, I don't know if you can hear me."</p><p>Dean could feel a freezing, aching throb beginning to build in his hands. The morning air was cold and unpleasant against his freshly opened gashes. But he'd punched a door before. It was nothing new.</p><p>"<em>Please</em> man, I'm begging you, I can't do this without you. And.. I don't- I don't know where you are but if you can hear me, I- I’m so sorry, <em>Cas,"</em></p><p>
  <em>"I’m so sorry."</em>
</p><p>How was it possible that just last night they'd been together, laughing over disgusting food and then-</p><p><em>"</em>Cas I- I'm not mad at you." Dean cleared his throat, trying to take a real breath, but it felt forced, as if his lungs just wanted to curl up and refuse air. "I just couldn't- I couldn't keep pretending, anymore, you know?"</p><p>"I'm not mad. I just had to tell you, because I was so <em>sick </em>of keeping it in. And I know, I <em>know, </em>that I've probably ruined everything, but I would rather have you here, Cas, I—"</p><p>"<em>please come back. </em>Friends or otherwise, I'd rather have you here, man, I-"</p><p>
  <em>It's in my heart and my head, and I can't take it back, I can't change all the things I said, but I wish I could because then maybe you'd still want to be here.</em>
</p><p>"So… I'm here. I'm right here- and I'll wait, Cas, just please come back. I need you."</p><p>------------------------</p><p>It seemed hours before Dean pulled himself up off the doormat, and stepped into the motel room, but the clock on the nightstand told a different story. It had only been eight minutes. The punctured holes in the motel door glinted like little windows into the outside world, throwing tiny circles of light onto the wood floor.</p><p>
  <em>It's too quiet.</em>
</p><p>He walked over to the shattered lamp and the unmade beds, almost grateful for the messes he'd created. At least it would give him something to do.</p><p>Gingerly, Dean knelt down to collect the pieces. He couldn't repair the lamp like Cas could, but leaving the shards on the floor was unsafe. He picked up the larger fragments, and almost tossed them in the trashcan when he saw it—</p><p>A glossy black residue, like <em>goo, </em>splattered across a few of the pieces.</p><p>
  <em>Ectoplasm?</em>
</p><p>No. It didn't look quite right.</p><p>Dean's heart skipped a beat, jolting spasms through his shaking fingers, and he dropped the shard.</p><p>
  <em>Something's wrong. </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Sweet Dreams</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>WOW HOLY FUCK!!! HI!! It’s Cas!! (yes i chose that name myself) so hello!! Originally I was only the beta for this, but I actually!! Wrote!! Some of it!!! Yes!! About half of what you’re gonna read is mine &lt;3<br/>Ergghhhh just to let everyone know i am SO sorry for all the pain,, but don't worry!! There’s hella fluff too :DD<br/>But it’s gonna be painful and I am very sorry it took this long anyway HOPE YOU ENJOY &lt;3&lt;3&lt;3&lt;3&lt;3</p><p>-Cas</p><p> </p><p>WHATSUP BITCHES!!!<br/>Well it’s finally here: the next chapter that y’all have been begging us to release. :D</p><p>Careful what ya wish for: this one is painful *evil laugh*</p><p>Also: guys: I am just gonna say this: I am the luckiest fricking fanfic author on the planet. Jupiticas (Cas) started off as my beta-reader, and now: here we are: Team Cas/Charlie, and I have never loved anything so much as I have loved sharing this fic with them.</p><p>This fic would not be HALF as good without Cas’s help, and I am so very very grateful for their talent, and their FRIENDSHIP.  ♥️</p><p>As always:<br/>Leave your thoughts below, even if it’s just jibberish: Cas and I CAN RELATE TO THAT SHIT. </p><p>WE LOVE YALL.<br/>Enjoy the pain ;)</p><p> </p><p>OH! And i got a twitter account… :D</p><p>@peaceoutHELLERS<br/>@jupiticas</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div>
<p></p><div>
<p></p><div><h2>1 Year Earlier</h2><p>
        <em>
          <strong>Kelly Kline's Heaven. December 2018.</strong>
        </em>
      </p><p>Cas slams back-first into the kitchen cupboards, thrown off his feet by the cosmic entity possessing Dumah's vessel. The force of the impact would have knocked any human unconscious, but Cas is no human. The blow is enough, however, enough to keep him grounded for a few seconds.</p><p>The Empty strides towards Cas, satisfied in its easy victory.</p><p>"No! Stop!" Kelly cries out from the other side of the room. Cas grits his teeth, struggling onto his elbows, staring up into Dumah's predatory gaze.</p><p>In one sweeping motion, Jack pushes himself off the floor and lunges at the entity. Cas doesn’t even have time to shout a warning, to tell Jack to run, that it is pointless to try to fight, before the Empty spins around, seizing Jack by the throat and lifting him off the floor.</p><p>There is no weakness, in the Empty's grasp, no mercy. It means to kill, and it has no intentions of leaving the room before Kelly and Jack are dead, and Cas—</p><p>Cas pulls himself to his feet, angel blade dangling uselessly from one hand. He meets Jack's terrified eyes, and knows there is no choice, not for him. Not for a father. So he whispers a silent apology to his best friend, his <em>reason</em>, his savior, his almost lover, his living regret.</p><p>
        <em>—Dean, I’m so sorry for what I am about to do- and I hope someday, you can forget me. I hope you can move on from this. But I know that you, better than anyone, can understand why I have no choice. </em>
      </p><p>Cas lowers his head, staring furiously at the entity, his decision made.</p><p>
        <em>"Take me."</em>
      </p><p>The Empty tilts its ear curiously towards Castiel, but doesn’t loosen the death grip on Jack's neck. "A little louder, please?"</p><p>Gritting his teeth, Cas stands to his full height, staring straight at the back of Dumah's vessel. It is astonishing, the <em>things </em>that can reside inside a simple human body. <em>Powerful </em>things.</p><p>"Take <em>me </em>in his stead," Cas growls. "Take ME." The words clamp a weight to the inside of his chest, a weight he knows will never disappear.</p><p>
        <em>This is it. This is the end.</em>
      </p><p>His life, for his son's. He can only hope Dean will forgive him, when this is all over. </p><p>The Empty tilts its head, considering. Jack thrashes wildly, gasping, and Cas feels a desperate impulse to rush over, angel blade in hand, and stab the entity with all the fury he can muster—</p><p>But he knows that would be pointless. There is only one option. One chance.</p><p>The Empty, wearing Dumah’s face, contorts its mask. “You?”</p><p>Cas’s voice is stern as he speaks, but a deep dread fills his center. “I’m the one you want, I’m the one who woke you up.” </p><p>The Empty considers, Jack struggling against its hold—</p><p>But then suddenly, as if coming to a decision, its grip weakens, letting go, and Jack falls limply to the floor next to Kelly, who reaches out a shaking hand to help her son. The Entity spins around to face Cas. </p><p>
        <em>“You?” </em>
      </p><p>The angel nods. </p><p>“<em>But</em>.. you’re already mine.” The vessel’s mouth quivers, stretching into an eerie smile, one that doesn’t quite reach its eyes. Almost… <em>psychotic</em>. </p><p>Cas shakes his head, lip curling. “Not for years. Eons, maybe. But if you agree, I will go now, and I will go willingly.” </p><p>Cas thinks of Dean again, wondering how the hunter will react when he learns of the deal. When he learns that once again, Cas has abandoned him.</p><p>
        <em>Oh, Dean, how I will miss you. But will I even have consciousness? I will be asleep, after all…</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Jack will have to explain, but Dean won’t know how— I’m so sorry, and Sam, he won’t know either, I will never have been able to say goodbye— </em>
      </p><p>The Empty’s cold eyes dart around, thinking, then it utters a single word;</p><p>“Deal.”</p><p>Cas closes his eyes, resigned to his fate. </p><p>He internally lets Dean, Sam, and Jack know he loves all of them, wanting his last thoughts to be of his family. </p><p>But, surprisingly, the Empty <em>laughs</em>. </p><p>It’s a dark, humorless thing.</p><p>“Oh, but not now. No, no, no, no. No, you see,” the corners of its mouth twitch, eyelashes batting at the desperate angel. “No, you see, I-I meant what I said.”</p><p>The Empty steps closer.</p><p>“I-I want you to suffer. I want you to go back to-- to your normal life and-- and then forget about this and forget about me.” The Empty’s face is so <em>gruesome</em>, features twisting, and Cas can’t look away.</p><p>“And—and then, when you finally give yourself permission to be happy… and let the sun shine on your face… <em>that's when I'll come. </em>That's when I'll come to drag you to nothing.”</p><p>Cas looks down, eyelids flickering. He speaks, still refusing to meet the gaze of his possessed sister before him. “I accept.”</p><p>The Empty gives one last too-wide smile then drops to the floor. </p><p>------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Jack chomps on his burger. It's only been a couple hours since the deal was made, since the hourglass turned over.</p><p><em>It's starting, </em>Cas thinks, sitting at the bunker's kitchen table, surrounded by the family he'd chosen to love, and the family he would eventually leave.</p><p>
        <em>The beginning of the end.</em>
      </p><p>He could still remember a time when Sam Winchester, the man now sitting across from him, was only 'the boy with the demon blood,' an abomination fit for destruction.</p><p>The boy with the demon blood had become the man who saved the world, he'd become a brother, a friend, and now an adopted father to the devil's son.</p><p><em>OUR son.</em> Cas smiles fondly at the nephilim boy sitting across from him, devouring the burger almost as quickly as Dean. Apparently, Dean's eating habits had rubbed off on Jack.</p><p>Jack frowns, noticing his three dads looking at him. "Is something wrong?"</p><p>Dean chuckles, and Sam replies, "No, no at all," assuring the boy with a firm pat on the shoulder. They both grin fondly at Jack. Cas can't help but look to Dean, however.</p><p>He can’t help but think about what he just did.</p><p>Cas already knows what his happiness is. He’s aware Dean is part of it.</p><p>
        <em> I’ve gone this far without happiness. I can go further. </em>
      </p><p>Is it that easy, though?</p><p>They have <em>Jack </em>back. Cas <em>could </em>let himself be happy. He is already on the verge. </p><p>Cas is jerked back to reality by Dean’s voice.</p><p>“We’re just damn glad to have you back.” he says gruffly. </p><p>“Yeah.” Sam agrees. </p><p>“And,” Dean points at Jack. “We know where Michael is.” He leans back in his chair, directing his attention to Cas and looking almost suspicious. “Not quite sure how you pulled that one off.”</p><p>Cas feels a dark, fluttering feeling. He stutters as he speaks. “Well, we, uh, we still don’t know where Dark Kaia is. Or the spear.”</p><p>Sam’s smile falters a little. “Yeah, but we will. We’ll figure it out. We’ll find her. I-I mean, we found her before.”</p><p>Dean finally grins, a full smile that makes Cas’s chest tighten uncomfortably. “That’s right. And then Michael— that son of a bitch is gonna pay.”</p><p>He holds out his bottle. “C’mon.”</p><p>The four of them clink their beers.</p><p>------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Sam, Dean, Cas, and Jack all sit around the map table. Soft lighting bathes the whole room in a low yellow glow. It’s been three months since Jack came back.</p><p>Three months since Cas made the deal.</p><p>The deal that will end his life the moment he lets himself be truly happy. </p><p>
        <em> (—that is when I will come. That is when I will drag you to nothingness—)</em>
      </p><p>The words still reverberate around Cas’s mind every time he and Dean are alone together, the Empty’s promise lingering there, taunting him. It is the cruelest of contradictions: reaping sorrow through ultimate happiness. </p><p><em>Now is not the time to think about that.</em> Cas swallows back the fear rising inside his throat, and fixes his gaze on his family. </p><p>
        <em>Stay in the moment. Who knows how many more moments I have left. </em>
      </p><p>Sam and Dean look happier than they have in a long time, and Cas takes comfort in their soft smiles. Sure, they still have the threat of Chuck weighing over their heads, but they have their son back. And Cas is grateful that for once in his entire, wretched existence, he had finally managed to do something right.</p><p>Dean leans back in his chair, grinning into his beer. “Man, this is awesome. I missed this,” he pauses for a moment, then shoots a look each to his brother, Cas, and Jack. “You guys up for a movie tonight?”</p><p>Jack’s face lights up. “Yeah! Can we watch <em>Star Wars</em>?”</p><p>Dean’s own expression suddenly gets very serious and he stares at the boy intently, eyes narrowed. “Hell <em>yes </em>we can watch <em>Star Wars</em>.”</p><p>Sam sighs, looking exasperated, but it’s in a good way; his eyes twinkle and his lips pull upwards at the corners. </p><p>Cas wishes he could share the same excitement. He does, kind of, but not really. Because even <em>this </em>moment lacks true happiness… he feels it in his gut, the familiar <em>lack-of</em> that has haunted him ever since he’d first learned what it was to love someone without reciprocation. Even in this moment, something is missing. And Cas knows what it is.</p><p>And now… stretching out the inevitable, ignoring his desires for fear of the consequences… like never being able to read the final page at the end of a book, never learning the answers to all his questions… postponing<em> El Fin </em>for as long as possible, because this time, there would be no new books to read, no new stories to live. This story is the last one, the last exquisite breath of life—</p><p>
        <em>And I can’t even truly enjoy it.</em>
      </p><p>He looks to him. To Dean. </p><p>The one he-</p><p>
        <em>No.</em>
      </p><p>The atmosphere is good, so sweet, yet all of it is dampened. </p><p>------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Cas steps among the aisles, Dean following close behind with a basket. Cas turns around to inspect the items in Dean’s hand. “Dean, is that much sweets really necessary? You have…” he stops to count. “Three tins of pie, two chocolate cake mixes, a box of cookies, a bag of jolly ranchers, and <em>four </em>rice krispy packs. Plus the absolutely astounding bag of lollipops.”</p><p>Five months since the deal. Jack’s second birthday. Cas and Dean are shopping for his party. </p><p>Dean looks offended. “Cas, c’mon, it’s the kid’s birthday. He deserves some extra treats. Two year old birthdays only come once!”</p><p>Cas sighs. “I know, but this is excessive.”</p><p>“Dude, live a little. Who knows how much time we have left, let’s party!” </p><p>
        <em>If he only knew how true that statement really is.</em>
      </p><p>Cas tries to hide the pang of sadness that comes over him, forcing out a weak nod. “Yes. Yes, I suppose so.” </p><p>Dean frowns, immediately picking up on Cas’s sudden change of tone. “Hey man, you okay?” he lays his hand on the angel’s shoulder. And Cas loves him even more for it. </p><p>“Yes— I’m okay. Just thinking about Kelly,” Cas lies. </p><p>The hunter goes quiet. “Yeah, it’s also been two years since she died, huh?” Cas nods. “Well, we’ll light a candle in honor of her, okay?” </p><p>“Alright.”</p><p>------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Seven months after the deal.</p><p>It’s a simple job, really. A vampire hunt in some nondescript seaside town in California. Cas and Dean walk along the docks, jackets slung over shoulders in the July heat.</p><p>It’s a comfortable silence. Until, of course, Dean makes a loud excited noise. </p><p>“Dean? Something wrong?” Cas asks.</p><p>“Nonono, not at all, Cas,” Dean isn’t looking at his best friend, but at a small wooden building advertising the renting of double person bikes. </p><p>“In fact, the opposite,” Dean grins, grabbing Cas by the hand and hauling him towards the rental shop, Cas stumbling to keep up. “The vamps can wait, we <em>have </em>to ride this thing. I haven’t been on one since, like, 2009, with Sammy.”</p><p>“But, uh, Dean,” Cas fidgets awkwardly, glancing around at the other customers, then back at Dean, who is measuring a bicycle against himself, apparently finding the appropriate height. “I don’t know how, to, erm, <em>bike</em>. How to ride one, I mean.”</p><p>“Well then I’ll teach you! It’s not that hard,” Dean pats him on the shoulder, obviously amused by the angel’s worry.</p><p>Cas remembers the first time he’d told this to Dean. <em>Emmanuel</em>, he’d called himself then, a replacement for the name he hadn’t been able to remember.</p><p>Emmanuel had been innocent. Emmanuel had been worthy of love. And as Emmanuel, Cas had known a delicate and undeserved peace. A kind of inner acceptance, confidence, that he hadn’t felt since then. So when Dean restored his memories, his failures and aching secrets, Cas almost wished to be Emmanuel again, to have Emmanuel’s simple, innocent life, to be ignorant of the deep hurts hidden beneath each scar.</p><p>And yet, a deeper part of him knew he didn’t want to forget everything. Dean’s friendship was a mercurial thing, but it was the only thing Cas could believe in. Without Dean—without <em>everything</em>—</p><p>
        <em>Someday soon I will exist without him. Someday soon I will leave him to live out my existence in an endless spiral of regrets and elusive memories... </em>
      </p><p>Cas gazes at the green-eyed man before him, trying to memorize the placement of each freckle, the curve of each eyelash, tucking the images away in his mind for the inevitable moment when Dean’s face would turn from reality into memory.</p><p>
        <em>I would rather remember him in my loneliness for all eternity than live inside a beautiful hoax, oblivious to our memories.</em>
      </p><p>Being with Dean is a feeling Cas can’t afford to forget. Can’t afford to miss.</p><p>He snaps back into reality, just as Dean pays, then unlocks their bike. </p><p>“So, you straddle it, like this,” he demonstrates by sitting on the front seat and gripping the handlebars. “Don’t worry, I’ll be doing most of the work.”</p><p>Cas slowly makes his way onto the second seat, holding Dean’s sides for stability, legs awkwardly positioned on the pavement. Dean’s body is warm beneath his hands, and he realizes the last time he’d held Dean this close, the hunter had been a demon.</p><p>“Alrighty, now put your feet on the pedals.” Dean turns his head to look at Cas better. “Good. I’m gonna start moving, okay?” Cas nods. “Here we go—”</p><p>Dean puts his feet on his pedals and starts to turn, causing Cas’s to spin too. He starts off slow, then goes steadily faster. Cas can feel Dean’s muscles under his shirt.</p><p>He can also feel the Californian ocean wind whipping his hair, and hear the other people enjoying the nice day. He starts to smile, hearing Dean’s whoop of pleasure, then stops, remembering what could happen. He suddenly feels sick. </p><p>“Dean, please, I need you to stop,” Cas says thickly.</p><p>“You okay?” Dean’s worried voice sounds a million miles away, and stopping the bike, he glances back at the angel, a frown creasing his forehead.</p><p>“Cas? What—”</p><p>Cas takes a few hurried steps away, not looking back, not even hearing the rest of Dean’s sentence. He flies off, not caring if anyone saw him disappear into thin air.</p><p>It is hard to care about anything anymore, because he knows what could happen. He knows the consequences of caring too much.</p><p>------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>“Okay, so what are we looking for again?” Dean says.</p><p>Ten months since. </p><p>They’re in Madison, Wisconsin. There’s been a mysterious string of deaths where every victim has been brutally murdered in a locked room. The local police were stumped; stuff like that doesn’t happen there. After <em>way </em>too much digging, Sam was able to figure out it was a witch, and what they are looking for is a rock. A very specific rock. Large, with intricate carvings. Apparently it also has homicidal magical properties.</p><p>“Why did the goddamn witch have to set up murder base in a city with over <em>two hundred</em> parks?” Dean had complained in the car ride there. Luckily, the rock was well-known amongst the town’s citizens.</p><p>“Uh, a pink granite boulder? About six feet tall. Should be in this area.” Cas replied. </p><p>They are downtown. Cas has to admit it is a very beautiful city; the capitol building a spectacular work of architecture. </p><p>All at once, Dean’s attention is swiftly grabbed by an outdoor food stand that is advertising tiny burgers. “Wait, hold that thought, I’m hungry.”</p><p>Cas squints in distaste. “You ate less than two hours ago.”</p><p>“But <em>tiny burgers,</em>” Dean puts on a pouty face. “TINY BURGERS, Cas.”</p><p>Cas rolls his eyes. “Fine, but then we get back to work. After the… tiny burgers.”</p><p>They walk up the counter, Dean noticeably going faster. He orders his food and then sits down on a nearby bench to people-watch the farmers’ market crowds.</p><p>The wind is brisk, but Cas doesn’t mind. He is content to be with Dean, and that is all that matters. </p><p>------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Eleven months after the Deal was made.</p><p>Dean re-adjusts the tiny laptop screen on his knee, Cas’s leg pressed up against his. Dean had insisted they binge-watch all three <em>Back To The Future movies.</em></p><p>They’re squished together on Dean’s bed, computer screen on each of their connecting knees. Cas can feel the warmth of the other man like a searing flame.</p><p>When the famous flux capacitor scene comes on, Dean quotes the line along with the character, yelling “eighty-eight miles per hour!” with a huge grin on his face.</p><p>It’s quiet, except for the occasional interruption of Dean relaying lines. </p><p>Halfway through the second movie, Cas senses Dean’s eyes drooping. He also seems to be shivering. </p><p>“Dean, are you cold?” Cas asks worryingly.</p><p>“I, er, I mean, maybe a little,” Dean’s teeth chatter. “Sam must have f-f-forgotten to p-put the heat on.” </p><p>“Here, take my coat.” Cas shrugs out of his tan trenchcoat and wraps it around the plaid-clad hunter. </p><p>Dean pulls it a little tighter around him. “Th-Thanks, Cas.”</p><p>He falls asleep shortly after, still wearing the angel’s coat.</p><p>Cas closes the laptop and snuggles the blankets around Dean caringly. </p><p>As he leaves the room, he shuts off the light and whispers to the darkness. “Goodnight, Dean.” </p><p>-------------------------------------</p><p>Eleven months and three weeks after the Deal was made.</p><p>"Dean?" Cas strides through the bunker's passages, trenchcoat flapping behind him in his hurried pace. He'd told the Winchester's he would visit in the morning, and here he is: but apparently, Dean is still asleep. </p><p><em>Perhaps I should check Dean’s bedroom, </em>Cas thinks.</p><p>“Dean?” he says as he pushes open the heavy dark wood.</p><p>“<em>DAMMIT</em>, CAS!” The door is slammed shut again in Cas’s face, but not before he can get a glimpse of what he almost missed.</p><p>It was Dean. Stark naked.</p><p>Well, not <em>completely </em>naked, he had underwear on, but he might as well have been. </p><p>Cas could feel his face burning up.</p><p><em>Angels don’t blush, </em>he reminds himself, despite the obvious heat settling deep into his face.</p><p>Cas waits outside for Dean, swinging his arms at his sides. But he can’t get the image of the toned hunter out of his head.</p><p>It must have been only a few minutes, but after what seems like several hours, Dean emerges from his room again, this time fully dressed. </p><p>“Cas, don’t you know how to, er- knock?” he says awkwardly.</p><p>Cas stares back, not quite knowing what to say, and Dean sighs. </p><p>“Okay. Cas. Good human etiquette is to <em>knock </em>before you enter a room. Or, even better, knock, wait, see if the person behind the door says yes or no, <em>then </em>go in. Boom. Easy.”</p><p>“A-Alright.” Cas stammers.</p><p>“D’you, wanna, practice? Or somethin’?” a pink tinge dusts Dean’s freckles.</p><p>“Sure, I suppose.” Cas realizes that swinging his arms uselessly had to have looked stupid, even by angel standards, so he shoves them in his pockets.</p><p>“Okay. Here. I’m gonna go back to my room, then you knock. Good?”</p><p>Dean goes in, as he said he would, and closes the door. He calls through it, voice muffled slightly.</p><p>“Hey, you can do it now, buddy.”</p><p>Cas realizes he doesn’t know how to knock. </p><p>So, he decides to try his best.</p><p>“Knock?” he says tentatively, like a question, then hearing Dean’s quiet laughter, smiles confusedly. </p><p>“Dean, I don’t know how to knock.”</p><p>“Yeah, pal, I get that. So, here’s what you’re gonna do. Make a fist with your hand, like a fist bump.”</p><p>“I’ve never done that either.” Cas squints at the door, listening closely to Dean’s instructions.</p><p>“I-It doesn’t really matter. Just, make the fist, and hit it against the wood.” </p><p>“Oh. Okay.” Cas does the motion. “Was that right?”</p><p>“Yeah, you got it, good job— now you’re gonna ask if you can come in,” Dean chuckles.</p><p>“Can I come in?” Cas asks.</p><p>“Yeah, go ahead.” Cas turns the knob and realizes Dean is <em>right there.</em></p><p>“Oh. Uhm. Hello, Dean.”</p><p>“Hiya, Cas.” Dean’s jade eyes glint. “Also, what time is it?”</p><p>The angel pauses for a moment, calculating the exact moment. “10:32 and five seconds, a.m.”</p><p>“Still not too late for coffee, perfect! C’mon, let’s go before Sammy steals all of it.” </p><p>------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>
        <strong>One full year since the deal.</strong>
      </p><p>
        <strong>In the Beginning, Sam Winchester Was Tired.</strong>
      </p><p>It has been one entire year, since Cas made the deal to save Jack's life. Today is the anniversary of his secret sacrifice, and Jack is still the only one who knows.</p><p>Although Cas is currently coming <em>very </em>close to spilling the whole story in Dean's face, if only to shut him up.</p><p>Heaven's duties had kept Cas away from the bunker for over a week, and as per usual, Dean had decided to skip the warm welcome, and alleviate his frustration through loud, argumentative accusations.</p><p>Jack's powers still hadn't fully recovered, and according to Dean-Logic, <em>somehow</em>, it is entirely Cas's fault.</p><p>"Maybe if you'd been here more often, Cas, you could've, I don't know- <em>helped </em>Jack in some way, or—" Dean gestures furiously at Sam, who sits innocently at the bunker's map table, seemingly deaf to the ongoing argument.</p><p>"—or you could've helped Sam translate all these damn Enochian scrolls, or—" Dean breaks off, stammering for words.</p><p>Cas leans against the table, arms folded, glaring at the rambling hunter before him. "Or what, Dean? What could I have done to predict that Jack's powers would still be so weak, one year later? What could I have done?"</p><p>"You could have <em>BEEN HERE,</em> Cas!" Dean jabs a finger in the angel's direction, and Cas can make out the beginnings of tears in those green eyes.</p><p>"-instead of going off and doing <em>god-knows-what</em> with Hannah, you could have been <em>here</em>, and maybe—"</p><p>"<em>Dean</em>." Cas shifts his weight off the table, stepping towards Dean, his gaze focused, voice low and roughened. "You know I'd rather be here. You know that. You also know that if I don't heed Heaven's orders, they <em>could have me killed</em>. I <em>have </em>to listen to Hannah, it is my job, my <em>duty</em>."</p><p>"No." Dean's face hardens, and he shakes his head, the red anger fading into a chilling glare, and he steps closer to Cas. "No, your <em>duty </em>is to your <em>family</em>. Not to those flying dick-bags."</p><p>"Dammit, Cas- how many times have they betrayed you, <em>tortured </em>you, used you and left you, but you still leave us for THEM?"</p><p>Cas swallows back his anger, shoving down the memories that the hunter's words had awoken. Memories of <em>Dean</em>.</p><p>
        <em>You left me, Dean. YOU used me. I gave everything for you, more than you even know, more than you will EVER know, and you still left me. So many times.</em>
      </p><p>Dean turns away, and Cas stands silently, holding back the tidal wave of toxic memories. Because as much as it hurts, being Dean's friend, still he wants more. <em>Needs </em>more.</p><p>"You never consider anyone else's point of view but your own," Castiel speaks quietly to the hunter's back. "I wanted to be here, Dean. But once again, I <em>have </em>to consider heaven's wishes-"</p><p>Dean spins around, mouth opening with a rebuttal but Cas only speaks louder. "-I have to be there when they want me to be there, because I haven't forgotten what I did to that place-"</p><p>His voice shakes, remembering the carnage he had inflicted, the <em>death toll…</em></p><p>"-and because I can't afford to anger them or we will, once again, have a <em>garrison </em>of angels on our tail. Hunting us, hunting <em>Jack</em>, and <em>you</em>—"</p><p>"—then why'd you leave so suddenly huh?" Dean retaliates, chest heaving. "I went to get you and you were <em>GONE</em>, no goodbye, no <em>'hey I'm leaving I'll be back soon</em>,' no note—Cas, you just <em>left</em>. What am I supposed to think about that?"</p><p>Silence. Sam fidgets awkwardly in the background, coughing into his hand. As usual, Cas and Dean ignore him.</p><p>Cas remembers. It had only been a week before. The day he’d seen the hunter mostly-naked, so Dean had taught him how to knock, how to shower.</p><p>Simple, mundane tasks, but Cas had let himself feel almost happy. He'd almost gone over the edge. And so he'd left, that night. Quietly, and unnoticed, he'd slipped out the front door, leaving Dean in the kitchen where he'd been making popcorn for the both of them. Dean had been humming, and Cas remembered standing outside of the bunker's door, the seconds feeling more like hours, feeling Dean's happiness absorb their bond in a glow of warmth.</p><p>It had been too close. Too dangerous.</p><p>Cas shifts his gaze to meet Dean's eyes, forcing his voice to remain steady.</p><p>"I'm sorry Dean. I am. I had my reasons."</p><p>
        <em>I felt happiness, Dean, spending the day with you, and I had to leave before it became more than I could afford to feel.</em>
      </p><p>"What <em>reasons</em>, Cas?" Dean whispers tiredly, his voice breaking, but Cas doesn't answer, and Dean huffs out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.</p><p>"You never stop to think things through, do you," Dean spits out. "Never have, never will, I guess."</p><p>"Maybe you're right," Cas replies coldly.</p><p>There's another cough in the background. Sam. "Guys."</p><p>Cas and Dean ignore him, glaring into each other's eyes. There's nothing more to say. </p><p>------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>
        <strong>Good Intentions</strong>
      </p><p>"Well?" Sam looks steadily at the trenchcoated angel and the half-naked hunter, wrapped in a fluffy pink bath-towel.</p><p>"Who wants to talk first? Nobody? Awesome." He sits up straighter in his chair, and begins a long-winded rant that Cas barely hears. The thoughts, the <em>panic </em>pounding away inside his head—it’s all too loud.</p><p>
        <em>Oh Sam, what have you done, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE—</em>
      </p><p>Sam had never learned of the deal, of course, never learned of the things Cas had sacrificed to save Jack's life. The things Cas had denied himself, all of this long year. </p><p>And now—with one simple spell and a can of blue spray-paint, Sam had unknowingly put Cas’s entire existence back on the edge of the knife. </p><p>Chills cascade down the angel’s spine as he wonders if this is it. If his love will cease to exist because of Sam’s ignorance, if Dean will finally say the things Cas has always wanted to hear. </p><p>If today will be the day he is dragged to nothingness. </p><p>
        <em>Dean I am so sorry, if I leave you today— I meant for it to last longer. I could have loved you for a lifetime, without a single word of reciprocation from you, but now—</em>
      </p><p>“—you’re here and he’s here and I’m here, all in the same damn place and you are going to <em>talk</em>,” Sam finishes, and sits down in his rolling desk-chair, staring at the two of them pointedly. </p><p>Then it happens, and Cas isn’t sure whether he should feel relieved or devastated. He feels it: terror. Rolling off of Dean, striking friction through the bond, and Cas sucks in a breath, trying desperately to fill his crumpled lungs with air. Trying desperately not to fall to the floor right then and there, because now he knows the truth—</p><p>
        <em>My future is endless. Dean will never love me. So I will never leave him.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>And I should be glad, grateful, that the empty will never come for me, because then I will not have to abandon him. But I guess I must be selfish because Dean- I want so badly for you to love me- I want-</em>
      </p><p>But Cas knows, if Dean’s fear is any evidence, that the only conceivable way he could ever feel true happiness… is if he tells Dean everything, even with nothing in return, just <em>telling </em>Dean, just <em>saying it</em>… it would be enough.</p><p>
        <em>Dean, I have loved you until it hurts. But it wasn’t enough. </em>
      </p><p>
        <em>I have loved you until it became torture, until I died, many times… but it wasn’t enough.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em> So I will love you until I tell you, and I will not stop loving you even as I leave your side, and it will never be enough for me, and I will always wonder what you would’ve said, just now, and all the times in between. But for now— I’m not ready to go. Not yet.</em>
      </p><p>“—and Dean, man you have to do something about it, because your ‘staring contests’”— Sam makes air quotations— “are seriously scarring me for life. And that’s saying a lot, considering. And Cas, look, I know—”</p><p>“STOP.” Cas manages to keep his voice steady, emotionless. He is too grateful when Hannah’s voice appears in his mind, ordering his immediate presence. </p><p>
        <em>I won’t say goodbye to you Dean. Even if it means I’ll never be happy. </em>
      </p><p>------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>
        <strong>You Are the Reason</strong>
      </p><p>The end never comes when we expect it to. </p><p>Castiel had lived through much. Several billion years, in fact. And yet he knew that this past year would be perhaps the most memorable of them all.</p><p>It had been just over a full year since he’d made The Deal. Just over a year's worth of imagined scenarios for the inevitable end, each possibility more distressing than the last. </p><p>He remembered a time, long ago, before he’d met Dean Winchester, when the idea of his own death was far simpler. Far more straightforward.</p><p>He knew he’d go out eventually, most likely in battle. An honorable death, no doubt. Expected. The kind of death that would soon be forgotten by his kind. Why should they care about another dead angel? And Cas wouldn’t have blamed them: he wouldn’t have cared any more than they did, if one of his kin had died. Angels didn’t care about family.</p><p>And then, on that fateful day of September 2008, Castiel pulled a tortured soul from Hell, and from its bloody, shriveled existence, he rebuilt the man who would eventually become his family: the damaged, broken, beautiful human who taught an angel how to care. </p><p>But caring had its consequences. And he’d known then: this newfound emotion would become his destruction. </p><p>Angels weren’t made to feel emotions, and doing so would cost you. </p><p>He knew that, and still let himself get swept into the pull and tug of love.</p><p>As Hester once said, “When he first laid a hand on you in Hell, he was lost!”</p><p>Or as Chuck, God himself, had called him: “The angel with a crack in his chest!”</p><p>Castiel was created flawed. </p><p>He had already overstepped his finish line.</p><p>It had been the best and worst year of his existence, loving Dean in secret, knowing that one word could push him over the edge. </p><p>And when his life seemed especially pointless, when Dean could barely look at him from anger, when Dean smiled at him, and Cas couldn't even enjoy the moment of peace for fear of death, he would make lists in his head, counting all the ways he'd come to love Dean Winchester. </p><p>In these lists, these memories: Castiel would find himself longing for change, for a future with the man he loved. The only thing keeping him from constant panic was the knowledge that Dean would never love him back.</p><p>So as long as Castiel kept his fallen secret, the end would never come.</p><p>But now, sitting on a garishly-patterned bedspread, only inches away from Dean's tear-streaked face, the hunter's warm hand gripping his wrist more tightly than ever before, Cas feels a spreading panic writhing inside his chest, screaming warnings in his mind. He looks up at Dean, eyes wide, face tightening.</p><p>"<em>Dean</em>," he whispers, and he knows then, in the way Dean grips his hand tighter instead of letting go. In the way Dean wets his lips nervously, as if preparing to say something. <em>Something is happening.</em></p><p>Dean clears his throat, and Cas senses distantly a warm thumb tracing over his own fingers.</p><p>"Cas… I never thought- I never thought good things could happen to me. But <em>you </em>happened. Cas <em>you're my good thing—"</em></p><p>Cas can feel his own hands begin to shake, knowing that this is more than Dean has ever said before, more intimate, more honest—</p><p>
        <em>He's pulling down his walls. It's all coming crashing down, I have to stop this, I have to stop him—</em>
      </p><p>But Cas can't speak a word, frozen in the face of the End that is coming closer and closer—</p><p>Dean squeezes their fingers together, shifting closer to the angel's huddled form, and Cas barely holds back a sob as Dean continues speaking.</p><p>"-You happened to me, and dammit, I still don't see how I could possibly deserve you but here I am and I’m hoping—"</p><p>Hope. Cas knows the feeling well. He's been holding onto it for more than a decade, after all, holding onto a fragile future that had no hope, a delicate relationship that that had no hope—</p><p>"…you can keep being the good in my life."</p><p>
        <em>But there has been hope all along.</em>
      </p><p>"Dean, I—" Cas tries to pull away, tries to stop it all before it's too late to turn back.</p><p>Dean holds on tighter. "I’m sorry it took me till now to say it."</p><p>
        <em>Dean you put up so many walls, and I stood there loving you until you tore them down, and now you're going to watch me leave again.</em>
      </p><p>Cas wonders if Dean will ever take down his walls again. Perhaps not, not after this.</p><p>
        <em>Not after what I'm about to do to him.</em>
      </p><p>"-<em>please</em>, Dean, I don't want to leave, you don't understand—" Cas feels a throaty sob building in his chest, terror bubbling to the surface, and squeezing his eyes shut like a child, trying to pry Dean's hand off of his own.</p><p>"<em>Cas</em>- I'm begging you man, please. Stay." Dean's voice is so gentle, so unsure, it hurts to hear Dean pleading for something.</p><p>
        <em>In my darkest daydreams and happiest imaginings: never did I expect this. Never did I want you to beg me for anything, Dean- I never wanted—</em>
      </p><p>Dean's hand lets go, but doesn't leave Cas's skin. The angel feels warm fingers trail up his chest, brushing gently at his neck, then cupping his jaw, and Cas almost sighs, leaning into the comforting touch before he realizes that this is much worse than holding hands.</p><p>Dean rubs soothing circles along the angel's stubbled cheek, and Cas's eyes snap open as a small feeling of happiness wriggles its way in. Blue eyes flit frantically around the room, searching for anything out of the ordinary. There is nothing there. Not yet.</p><p>So now, he fulfills Dean's last wish: the last one he ever will.</p><p>
        <em>“Stay, Cas.”</em>
      </p><p>He stays, and listens as Dean tells him their story, tells him all the things Cas already knows, and he feels the threads of happiness fitting into place within himself, connecting all the missing pieces until there is only one thing left for Dean to say.</p><p>He can feel it coming, knows what Dean is about to say. He knows Dean is terrified, knows it can't be easy confessing love to a crying angel.</p><p>Dean grips their hands together once more, and Cas shakes uncontrollably, the tears streaming forth of their own free will, and he lets them come because who knows how long it will be until he can cry again, it may be so long from now. It may be never. </p><p>Cas holds himself tighter and closer with each shortened breath, wondering how long it will be until he sees Dean in his dreams, instead of in reality.</p><p>
        <em>I will watch our life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep, Dean. But I won't ever forget you, the way you forget your dreams.</em>
      </p><p>"Cas…."</p><p>
        <em>(—Say it—don't say it, please Dean—I need to hear it, just once—please stop, stop before it's too late—I love you—please don't make me leave you—)</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>"-I love you."</em>
      </p><p>Dean stammers onward, gripping the angel tightly, because he can't stop speaking now that he started and Cas looks at Dean: finally meeting those too-green eyes, and he can't think, can't move, he can only feel, his chest shaking with each new hot, terrified breath, and he hangs on to Dean as he would to a rope ladder, the only source of safety above a pit of hellish nothingness.</p><p>Cas barely hears Dean's words, barely registers what he's saying, he can only try to hang on to as many details as he can remember.</p><p>Cas pulls up every memory he thinks of, and grips them tightly, trying to remember so that he won't forget.</p><p>He feels Dean’s chest, <em>Dean’s</em><em>chest</em>, the Dean who loves him, against his back and fights the urge to turn around, to kiss the man he loves, because maybe, <em>maybe</em>, if he tries to ignore everything that just happened: maybe the Empty won't consider it as true happiness.</p><p>
        <em>We weren't meant to last forever, Dean, but why were we such fools for thinking we had an eternity to wait… when we could've had years, instead of nothing.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Oh, if I had known then, what I know now…</em>
      </p><p>Cas feels Dean's warm arm wrap around his own quivering body. It is comfort like Cas has never felt before.</p><p>
        <em>If I have to go on any day, I'm glad it was this one. At least I know you feel the same. At least I know you love me.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>Who would've thought.</em>
      </p><p>Castiel, the imperfect angel, and the broken hunter. They had fallen from so much and then they'd fallen in love together.</p><p>When the hunter’s breathing slows, Castiel knows it is time. He sends a surge of grace through Dean's hand, the warm golden light displaying their entwined fingers.</p><p>
        <em>Sleep.</em>
      </p><p>Cas kisses Dean’s cheek and climbs out of bed. “Goodbye, Dean,” he whispers. </p><p>He lays his hand on the same spot he had twelve years prior, remembering how he immediately knew Dean was special.</p><p>One of the few right notions Castiel had ever had.</p><p>
        <em>I'm sorry I had to fall in love with you, Dean Winchester. I’m sorry that I never knew you felt the same, I'm sorry that I'm ending us before we even begin, I'm sorry that I ever came into your life, the grenade that I am, and I'm sorry for what is about to happen, and if I could make you forget me, I would.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>I would touch your forehead and erase myself from your memories, so you wouldn't have to wake up alone and wonder why I abandoned you yet again.</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>But I can't. Because Dean, I need you to help me. I need you to remember me, and I know it's too much to ask….</em>
      </p><p>
        <em>But I need you to save me.</em>
      </p><p>It's an angel's prayer. His last hope.</p><p>“Hello, Castiel.” A voice sounds from behind him.</p><p>“Empty.” Cas turns around. He takes a deep breath. “I’m ready.”</p><p>A dark silhouette grabs hold of Cas’s wrist and pulls him forward, but they don’t collide; in a small explosion of black goop, and the quiet shatter of the bedside lamp, the two are gone.</p><p>------------------------------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Cas wakes up lying on a black surface. It has no texture nor temperature; it is simply there. There are no walls. </p><p>There is <em>nothing</em>. </p><p>“Why, hello there, Clarence.”</p><p>A woman’s face stares coldly down at him from where she sits atop an ebony throne. Cas inhales sharply, recognizing the blonde curls, the smug lips, the leather jacket…</p><p>“Meg?” </p><p>Meg tilts her head in mock sympathy as Cas struggles onto his elbows. “Not so much. Just a rental, really.”</p><p><em>The Empty, </em>Cas realizes. </p><p>“You’ve been a real cosmic pain in my ass, you know,” Meg swishes the liquid in her goblet, regarding the shivering puddle of trench coat with one sharply raised eyebrow. “So I’ve decided to torture you for all eternity—simple revenge, I’m sure you know how it goes—”</p><p>The Empty shrugs, taking another sip of the golden wine. </p><p>“—by forcing you to remember every last <em>almost-happy</em> memory with your darling Dean Winchester— the best punishment I ever came up with, if I do say so myself.”</p><p>Cas grunts, trying to push himself away from the Entity’s throne. </p><p>
        <em>Why is my body so weak—why do I feel this cold—</em>
      </p><p>He only gets a few feet before the curved clawed feet of the chair appear once again, only inches away from his face. A black, buckled boot presses against his throat, lifting his chin upwards until he is forced to meet the cold, darkened eyes. </p><p>“I mean…” the Empty shakes her head in mocking sympathy. “He was your best friend, wasn’t he—should I say, your <em>love</em>? Or is that too harsh?” Meg’s lips quirk upwards, dark eyes glinting, and Cas flinches back, stung.</p><p>“Sorry, baby.” Faux-Meg puts on a mocking voice, like that of a child. “I didn’t mean to hurt wittle Castiel’s feewings!” </p><p>The dead angel doesn’t know what to say. <em>How does it know?</em></p><p>“How do I know you’re in love with Mr. Winchester?” The Empty’s curls bounce as it leans down towards Cas’s huddled form.</p><p>“Oh, please—Clarence, even <em>I </em>could tell, and I’m a loveless ancient cosmic being.”</p><p>She leans back in her chair with a satisfied smirk and an impatient wave of her hand.</p><p>“Well, back to dreamland you go, feathers!”</p><p>Cas’s head hits the black coldness once again, his last thought of Dean, still alone in that motel room, right where he’d left him.</p><p>
        <em>Please forgive me. </em>
      </p></div></div></div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>SO. YEAH. I CRIED TOO, DON'T WORRY</p><p>-Cas</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Hold On</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HI! Jupiter here! (I kinda changed my name again. Oopsies.) ANYWAY! Hi!! This chapter is... interesting :D</p><p>and SO SO SO SORRY it took so long we were on kind of on a hiatus cos Charlie and internet problems for a few days but we're back!! So, enjoy!</p><p>also, pain is evident. just fyi ;)))</p><p>- Jupiter</p><p> </p><p>Hello our dear readers!</p><p>I'm sorry it's been so long guys. I had a huge ice storm out here. No electricity. No wifi. NO FANFICTION. But after three days of misery, I'M BACK BITCHES.</p><p>This chapter is painful—full disclosure. But I'm sure you're used to Jupiticas's and my writing style by now ;)</p><p>ENJOY!</p><p>Thank you all for the thoughtful, lovely, AWESOME comments: you guys are a big part of the reason we keep going!! Please leave your thoughts below, it truly makes our day reading them&lt;3</p><p>- Charlie</p><p>Extra note from Jupiter:<br/>Listen to "Hold On" by Chord Overstreet for full effect :D</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing.</em>
</p><p>Dean can't move. He'd been sitting near the shattered lamp for what feels like years, back pressed against the bed, elbows propped on upright knees. He can't remember the last time he blinked. Just staring straight ahead, existing dimly, the waves crashing and fading…</p><p>The cleaning-lady had come by. Several minutes ago. Knocked on the door and let herself in. Dean hadn't had the energy to say anything.</p><p>How do you find words for something so insignificant, when the only words that ever mattered have already been used up?</p><p>She'd barely noticed him sitting there, he'd been so silent. Just staring, barely breathing.</p><p>
  <em>Already dead.</em>
</p><p>Just a cold, dead body, abandoned by everything that made him alive.</p><p>
  <em>It would make no difference to anyone, to the world, I am just a mistake, wrong and damaged and beaten. I never was, and never could have been beautiful or good— why did I ever think someone like Cas could- could—</em>
</p><p>Dean swallows but his throat feels too dry.</p><p>He had tried calling Cas. Earlier. Even though he knew it was pointless. When he’d ripped through the mattress sheets, he’d found Cas’s cell phone, lying there innocently on the floor next to the bed. </p><p>But he’d dialed the number anyway, watching as Cas’s phone buzzed in his other hand, the screen glowing blue, his own name at the top. </p><p>And then after a few unanswered rings, Cas’s voice came out from the phone, and Dean had almost stopped breathing, for a second, he thought Cas was back, in the motel room. And he was saying something so stupid, so damn stupid, and Dean could practically see the confused head-tilt, the frowning, adorable look that he’d learned to love, somewhere along the way. </p><p>
  <em>“This is my voicemail. Make your voice.. A mail.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Beep. </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p> Dean let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and as he let it out, the tears began to fall once again. </p><p>He listened to the voicemail twice, three times, a dozen times, until his hand was shaking too much, his fingers too cold from the morning air seeping in through the door’s holes, and he’d tucked the phone back into the trenchcoat’s inner pocket, right next to the Zeppelin mixtape. </p><p>And that’s where he’d found it, his hand closing around a piece of thick paper.</p><p>It was a photograph—water damaged almost to the point of inscrutability—runny and bleached, but Dean could still make out the faces, and his stomach lurched.</p><p>It was him and Sam, the two of them leaning against the side of the Impala, obviously ignorant to the fact that Cas had been taking a photo. </p><p>
  <em>Oh Cas—</em>
</p><p>Dean gently slipped the photo back inside the coat, his heart pounding, and for one foolish moment he wondered if Cas had left the coat behind on purpose, just so Dean could see the photo.</p><p>
  <em>(No. He probably didn’t mean for me to see this. He left me, and that’s that. )</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But why would he leave his cellphone? Why would he leave his trench coat? Why would he leave without a REASON, without even a goodbye? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>(He’s done it before. This is nothing new. Everyone leaves me in the end.)</em>
</p><p>And so the questions and the doubts circled endlessly, and Dean had stopped counting the hours. Stopped checking the clock. </p><p>He just sits. Barely breathing.</p><p>A small, dim part of himself wonders what the lady must have been thinking: coming into to clean another motel room. An ordinary day. Only to find a frozen man, sitting amongst a pile of rainbow colored shards.</p><p>A beige trenchcoat draped across his lap.</p><p>
  <em>The only thing I have left of him.</em>
</p><p>"Oh! I’m sorry, sir—" she'd said, and Dean had almost laughed. As if she had actually <em>bothered </em>him.</p><p>
  <em>Nothing will ever bother me again. Everyone will move on, but I'll stay here. Maybe I'll die here. Just pull the trigger. Not like I haven't died before. It'd be so easy…</em>
</p><p>She'd walked over, tentatively. She'd asked him if he was okay. Dean barely registered the question.</p><p>What is <em>'okay</em>?' What does it mean, really?</p><p>
  <em>The world sees people like me every day, and they think- they think we're 'okay' but they don't see- not really. They see people walking around- and think they're alive. But they're dead on the inside.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Only on the inside.</em>
</p><p>That's what matters of course. Death is only tragic when it kills, they say. Better the inside than the out, they say.</p><p>
  <em>And they think that just because I'm breathing- I can move on. I can find somewhere to live- to be okay. They think I'll find a new perspective, a new reason to keep going. But I wont- Cas I won't- I swear.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You come back to me right now.</em>
</p><p>Dean grits his teeth, holding back the tears.</p><p>
  <em>COME BACK, Cas. I swear to God, you come back right now, or I'll just sit here forever- and—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And maybe I’ll just become a ghost, haunting the Casa Valentine Motel.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>They'll have to burn the- the damn friggin trenchcoat- heh- and Sam- Sam will wonder what happened- and- he'll never know!- he'll never-</em>
</p><p>Dean feels drunk, the familiar light-headed buzzing in his ears. </p><p>The maid had eventually left, giving up. It didn't matter.</p><p>Dean grips the trenchcoat to his face, breathing in the familiar scent, the feel of the silky material. His hands shake, and he stifles a sob, drawing his knees in closer to his body.</p><p>He sits there for a little longer, then finally realizes the one person, the only person, who would be able to help.</p><p>His brother.</p><p>Dean pulls out his phone and dials Sam’s number, almost dropping the cell due to how badly his bruised and bloodied hands are shaking.</p><p>“S-Sam?”</p><p> --------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Twenty Minutes Earlier</p><p>Sam wakes up to a buzzing noise vibrating across the map-table's surface. He blinks tiredly, and drives a hand through his rumpled hair, squinting at the name on the screen, then picks up the call.</p><p>"Jody?"</p><p>"Hey Sam—we're outside the door."</p><p>
  <em>We?</em>
</p><p>Sam checks the time. Almost eight in the morning.</p><p>
  <em>Oh crap. JACK.</em>
</p><p>Hanging up the call, Sam pulls himself up out of the chair, his back and shoulder muscles aching in complaint.</p><p>
  <em>How does Dean manage falling asleep at the table all the time?</em>
</p><p>Sam stumbles up the staircase, forcing himself into wakefulness. Apparently, staying up until six in the morning reading glorified fanfiction of their lives had more negative consequences on his energy-levels than he’d expected.</p><p>Jody flashes a grin as the door creaks open loudly, and Sam doesn't have to force his own smile: Jody is just the type of person who can bring cheerfulness to the most exhausted of 'fangirls.'</p><p> Her smile quickly fades to a frown as she sees Sam’s exhausted expression. “You forgot to sleep last night or somethin?” </p><p>Sam shakes his head tiredly, and moves aside to let her in. “I’m okay, Jody. Just up late doing research.”</p><p>
  <em>Very WEIRD research… but research.</em>
</p><p>She squints suspiciously, then puts her hands on her hips, raising one sharp eyebrow. “Do I have to use my mom-voice, Sam Winchester?”</p><p>“Hello, Sam!” Jack steps into the bunker, holding a foil-wrapped dish of what smells like homemade apple pie, and Sam is more than happy to let Jack become the center of attention, at least for the moment. </p><p>Sam wraps one welcoming arm around the boy, then gestures the two of them down the stairs and down the hallway into the kitchen. Jack sets the pastry on the counter.</p><p>“Mmh?” Charlie enters, rubbing her eye with the heel of her palm. “Is that pie I smell?” </p><p>She stops, seemingly taking in the scene. “Who’re you?” </p><p>Sam realizes Jody and Charlie have never met.</p><p>“Oh, uh, Charlie, this is Jody, one of the several moms I’ve had in my lifetime.” He grins sheepishly. “And Jody, meet Charlie, the hacker extraordinaire. We wouldn’t have been able to take down Dick Roman if not for her.”</p><p>Jody looks impressed and goes to shake Charlie’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”</p><p>“Hey! You too!” the short redhead smiles widely. She points to the pie. “Did you make this? It smells <em>amazing</em>!”</p><p>Jody flashes a smile. “Well, Claire made it, but thank you! I’ll pass on the compliment.” </p><p>“Yeah, no problem!” Charlie says.</p><p>Sam uncovers it. “Can we eat now? I’m starving. Jody, are you going to stay?” he asks.</p><p>“Aw, thanks for the offer, but I should be getting home,” Jody’s voice is apologetic. “Long drive. Hope you enjoy it! Great to see you, Jack and Sam, and super glad to meet you, Charlie! I’ll see you around.”</p><p>“Oh, okay. Thank you so much, Jody.” Jack gives her a hug, and Sam follows suit. Charlie nods in acknowledgment. </p><p>The three hear the bunker door close, and Sam and Charlie sit down while Jack gets plates. </p><p>“So-” Charlie starts, but she’s interrupted by the loud ringing of Sam’s cell.</p><p>“Hang on, it’s Dean,” Sam murmurs.</p><p>“S-Sam,” Dean’s voice is faint.</p><p>Sam pulls his phone close to his ear. “Dean, I need you to speak up. What happened?” He hears his elder brother’s sniffles. “De-”</p><p>“I love him.”</p><p>Sam startles. “What? Who, Cas??”</p><p>Charlie shoots up from her chair, yelling, “DID I JUST HEAR DEAN WINCH—”</p><p>Sam makes a loud shushing noise and she falls quiet. Sam puts the phone on speaker. Dean continues, voice wet.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“I-I told him I love him, a-and, we fell asleep together, and now he’s gone, Sammy, I fucked everything up, I-I don’t know what to do, I-”</p><p>“Dean.” Jack’s young voice is firm next to Sam. “Cas didn’t leave on his own accord, I promise you. He made a deal, and the terms were met today.”</p><p>The three at the kitchen table hear the other man on the phone quiet for a moment. “What are you saying, Jack?”</p><p>“Last year, when I was, when I was dying, Cas made a deal with the Empty. In Kelly’s heaven. It was going to kill me, but Cas offered himself instead. The Empty agreed, but it wouldn’t take him until he felt true happiness. As a form of extra punishment, I guess.”</p><p>“You knew?” Dean’s voice is suddenly stone cold.</p><p>“I-I couldn't tell you, Cas made me swear on it, I’m so sorry—'' Jack's eyes suddenly well up. He takes a deep breath. “I’m going to bring you to the bunker. I have a plan to bring Cas back.”</p><p>Dean hangs up, no response. </p><p>“What the hell is going on?” Charlie says.</p><p>“I’ll explain better when Dean gets here.” As soon as the words leave Jack’s mouth, he snaps his fingers, and Dean appears curled up in a chair, eyes red, arms clutching a beige trench coat to his chest. </p><p>He unfurls himself and apparently attempts to look more composed. “Tell me your plan. By the way, I’m <em>super</em> fucking pissed you, but tell me how to get Cas back.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p> --------------------------------------------------------</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Dean closes the large metal door behind their backs, and turns to join the others in the center of the circular dungeon. The room is dark, but Dean can still make out the worry in Charlie’s nervous expression, and he gulps back his own terror. </p><p>
  <em>Cas needs me to do this. I can do this. </em>
</p><p>He whispers a silent prayer to the angel, one of many, many prayers he’s said today. He lost count long ago, but the pain of Castiel’s name still hasn’t faded. It hurts just to say it. Hurts even more to imagine what it must have been like—for Cas to hear those things, and know full well that hearing them would cost more than tears. </p><p>
  <em>(—I love you, Cas—)</em>
</p><p>How many times in the past year, no, <em>years, </em>had he wanted to say those words, wanted to see Cas’s reaction? And now that he’d finally said them—</p><p>
  <em>You stupid son of a bitch, Cas—why didn’t you just tell me about the deal, we could’ve helped, we could’ve FIGURED it OUT, like we always do—</em>
</p><p>But Dean knows, inwardly, why Cas did it. Why he didn’t say something before it was too late. Because Dean would have done anything, <em>anything, </em>to save Cas from the consequences of the deal. Self-sacrifice in the face of another’s sacrifice: the Winchester way. And Cas had known that. </p><p>Dean takes a deep breath, heart bashing against his ribcage, and walks forward, meeting Jack near the black expanse of wall at the back of the room. </p><p>“Let’s get this son of a bitch and find a way to bring him home.”</p><p>Jack smiles softly, and nods, reiterating the plan one last time.</p><p>“So, here is what we are going to do.” Even though the boy is so young, his tone is deadly serious. </p><p>“I’m going to open a rift, like we did for the alternate universe world. Dean, you’re going to pray to Cas with the most powerful words you can think of. The rift <em>should</em> appear somewhat near him, as he is my target. We have to work fast, though, the Empty will notice soon.”</p><p>Dean nods shakily, body tense. “Okay. But- Jack— are you sure you’re strong enough for this, I mean—your powers were fading, last I checked and—”</p><p>Jack stops him with a hand on his shoulder, reminiscent of a certain angel. He looks Dean in the eyes. “Dean. I can do it. For Cas.” A faint smile lifts the boy’s lips. “He is my dad, after all.” </p><p>Dean nods, still nervous. But if anyone knows the limit to their powers, it’s Jack. The three watch as Jack holds out his hands towards the wall, golden grace surging at it. A thin line of energy appears, and it slowly opens to a dark void.</p><p>“Dean! Now!” Jack shouts. Beads of sweat are already forming at his temples. </p><p>Dean takes a deep breath, then immediately closes his eyes in concentration, praying as hard as he can.</p><p>
  <em>Cas, I hope you can hear me, buddy—hold on, I’m coming for you, I love you, I need you. I love all of you, Castiel, I love you, I NEED you. I love your eyes. I love your voice, your trenchcoat, I love all of it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I need you, I need you. Please come back. I need you. I love you so much and I need you to come back.</em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Cas is jerked into consciousness abruptly, awakened once again to black nothingness. </p><p>But this time, it’s different. </p><p>Empty-Meg is nowhere to be found; but he isn’t alone. </p><p>A steady mantra of words pound in his head, but it takes a second for Cas to realize what is being said and who is saying them.</p><p><em>Dean</em>?</p><p>
  <em>(—I love you, I love you, I need you, please, come back, I need you—)</em>
</p><p>Cas suddenly feels shaky all over. <em>It’s Dean, my Dean, saying he loves me—</em></p><p>The voice stops for a moment.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------</p><p>Beads of sweat are now dripping steadily from Jack’s face, his golden eyes glowing fiercely, outstretched hands shaking with fatigue. The rift seems to be flickering, black tendrils creeping out, then retreating as quickly as they came. </p><p>Sam and Charlie stand back from the danger-zone, hands covering their ears, trying to block out the angry, inhuman shrieks pouring forth from inside the blackness</p><p>“Okay, Dean, now start telling Cas to look for the portal!” Jack yells.</p><p>“Got it,” Dean mutters to himself, and ignoring the shrieks, and the blackness and the risks, he prays. </p><p>The once faithless man prays to save his guardian angel’s life.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>—okay, Cas, I hope you can hear me. Jack has a portal open. It should be near you. Please try to find it. I love you so goddamn much, you can do this. Just look for the gold rift. I love you.</em>
</p><p>Cas lifts his head, but everything feels heavy. Then he spots it: the rift. It’s not unlike the one Jack opened when he was born.</p><p>But it could be half a foot or ten miles away; Cas’s depth perception is completely thrown off. He starts to crawl anyway. Dean is behind that finish line. </p><p>
  <em>—I love you so much, Cas, you can do this. Do you see it? I love you. You can do this, you have to, Cas. For me, for Sam, for Jack, you got this. I love you.</em>
</p><p>Cas grits his teeth, ignoring the cold and the weakness of his vessel. Being in the empty for this long had already taken its toll: his body is reverting to a comatose state, refusing to move properly. He focuses instead on Dean’s pleading words, imagines Dean’s face in front of his—</p><p>
  <em>I’m trying, Dean, I’m doing it, I love you too, I’ll be there soon—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(—I love you. I love you. I love you—I’ll see you soon, Cas, I know, it’s hard, you got this, I love you so much, I love you—)</em>
</p><p>Cas finally reaches the rift after what seems like a millenia, Dean in his mind the whole time. </p><p>He tries to stand up, but crashes back down. He attempts again, legs threatening to collapse at any second. </p><p>Just as he catches a glimpse of a familiar-looking room through the portal, a hand grabs the back of his collar and jerks him backward—</p><p>“<em>DEAN!</em>” he screams, and the prayers from Dean suddenly stop, as if he heard the angel’s call.</p><p>
  <em>No, I can’t, I’ve made it this far, I’m so close—</em>
</p><p>“<em>CAS!”</em> Dean pushes his way through the opening, stepping fully into the blackness, ignoring Jack’s shouts of warning, and reaches out desperately for Cas’s wrist. Behind them, the Empty snarls, but this time, it’s not Meg’s voice, it’s cold, high-pitched, and definitely <em>not-human.</em></p><p>“<em>No</em>! He’s mine!” The dark silhouette raises what looks like an archangel blade, but it’s a black with a silver handle, and presses it against Cas’s throat. “Come any closer, and you’ll never see your precious Cassie again!”</p><p>Dean freezes in place, his hunter instincts taking over, assessing the situation. It’s all too familiar. He remembers the last time he’d been inside a rift like this, remembers the way it had ended. Cas standing outside the portal, Dean turning to make sure he was safe, and then seeing Cas’s silent scream, the harsh celestial light streaming from his open mouth and burning blue eyes, the long blade pierced cleanly through the angel’s chest. </p><p>And then seeing Cas’s vessel, Cas’s <em>body </em>lying there in the mud outside the closed portal, and thinking <em>no, not like this, it won’t end like this. </em></p><p>Only, it <em>had </em>ended like that. For a long time. Too long. For too long, Cas had been withheld from him, stolen by the empty.</p><p>For weeks after, the only thing Dean could feel was Castiel’s still-warm body folded into his chest as he’d carried the angel to the table, how he’d barely been able to stand up, carrying the dead weight, and he knew he could’ve asked for Sam’s help, but it didn’t seem right somehow. </p><p>How the ground had been slippery with puddles, and Dean put all his focus into each step because he knew if he stopped, he’d fall to his knees, and Cas would fall with him, into the earthy mud, and he knew neither of them would ever get up again.</p><p>For weeks, while Cas was gone, the only thing Dean could smell was the trenchcoat, wet and dirty, and the scent of the rain falling in droplets across the lake, the musty updraft of dust that swirled into the air as Dean wiped off the table, and settled his best friend down upon it.</p><p>For weeks, all Dean could see was those scorched wing-marks, burned into the ground, and knowing, numbly, that he’d never know what it would feel like to be loved by Castiel. </p><p>The empty had taken everything once before.</p><p>
  <em>Not again. Never again.</em>
</p><p>Dean stares down the entity, furious that it would dare stand between himself and his angel, and for the first time since entering the portal, his eyes meet Cas’s still-blue gaze, taking in the angel’s weakened appearance.</p><p>Dean swallows back a torrent of cuss words. Cas looks awful. Like he’s woken up in the middle of a battle, exhausted and half dead, legs shaking as if he can’t stand without the empty’s support, and his eyes—</p><p><em>His eyes are still his, </em>Dean breathes with relief.</p><p>
  <em>Still beautiful. Still Castiel. </em>
</p><p>“Cas,” Dean’s voice breaks, sounding too loud in the anxious silence. There are a thousand things he wants to say, but all he can whisper is “<em>I’m here, Cas.”</em></p><p>“I’m here.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Cas struggles for words, but the empty breaks the silence first with a condescending laugh, then surprisingly, lets Cas fall to the floor in a heap, and stands back as Dean rushes forward. “Cas, it’s okay, I’ve got you, I’m gonna save you, you’re gonna be okay—” </p><p>The words tumble forth more for his own comfort than anyone else’s, and Dean gently lifts Cas’s limp body, cradling the angel against his chest. </p><p>The empty clucks its tongue, moving to stand in front of the rift. “Cas, Cas, Cas. You’ve always been the <em>naive </em>one, haven’t you?”</p><p>Dean feels blood rushing to his head, suddenly in fight mode once again. He can’t believe he ever felt so numb just hours ago, now his entire body seems to be flaring with emotion: the anger, the fear, the relief, and yes: the <em>love.</em></p><p>
  <em>Focus. Focus. </em>
</p><p>The empty tilts its head at the both of them, then speaks, as if amused. “You know he isn’t real, right Castiel? You know this is just-” it swirls its hands vaguely at the black nothingness, “-just another one of my concoctions, built for your personal enjoyment.”</p><p>Its smile is chilling on its featureless, black face. Dean is disturbed to notice it seems awfully calm, as if it truly believes what it's saying, as if convincing Castiel will take nothing more than a few well-chosen words.</p><p>Dean grips Cas’s shoulder tightly. “Don’t listen to it, Cas, I”m <em>real, </em>okay, <em>we’re real—”</em></p><p>“-Ah. But that is exactly what Fake-You would say, isn’t it?”</p><p>The empty gestures at the portal, its black shadowed limbs reflecting the golden glow. “This—all of this. All mine. My little <em>creation. </em>And I think….” it steps closer to the pair huddled on the black floor. “I think it’s my best punishment yet. Letting you think you’re saved… by your <em>love, </em>no less. And just when you get through that portal, just when you think you <em>have it all…”</em></p><p>Dean shudders as the entity crouches down next to them, faceless head tilted down at Cas’s horrified expression. </p><p>“...<em>I’ll take it all away.” </em>It snaps its fingers in Cas’s face, and the angel flinches. “You’ll be right back where you were. A pitiful, <em>loveless, forgotten angel, </em>not worthy of saving.”</p><p>It stands up, moving to a position right in front of them, and Dean realizes the shadowy black hand is still gripping that strange ebony blade. </p><p>“Castiel, the <em>side-kick. </em>Castiel the <em>third wheel </em>to Sam and Dean Winchester’s epic bromance.” It tosses the blade from hand to hand, obviously enjoying watching Cas in agony. Dean grips the trenchcoated shoulder tighter, sending a prayer he hopes Cas can hear.</p><p>
  <em>(—Hold on, buddy. I’m trying to think of something. Just hang in there a little longer, okay?—)</em>
</p><p>“I mean, Castiel, be honest with yourself. Do you <em>really </em>think Dean Winchester would come to save <em>you? </em>The Winchester’s were God’s chosen <em>heroes, </em>and you—” its voice grows lower, cruel and sharp, “—you were just a <em>mistake. ‘</em>The guest-star angel of Thursday’: not even worthy of a happy ending. You were never meant to last this long. Never meant to be here.”</p><p>
  <em>(—Cas if you’re listening, if you can hear me, I’m real, okay? I love you- remember when I said that to you? Before you were taken? I told you- i told you I love you, Cas and I meant it—)</em>
</p><p>“And when you stayed!” The empty laughs again, and Dean feels a strong urge to punch the slimy being’s head until it becomes <em>truly </em>faceless.</p><p>“Well—you had to have known you were setting yourself up for a pathetic ending, Castiel. Dean may have <em>said </em>he loved you… but he’ll forget you. You won’t even be <em>worth mentioning. </em>And Dean will move on, and be with his <em>real </em>family, and he’ll be happy without you, Castiel. It’ll be heaven without you.”</p><p>Dean has heard enough. Time is ticking. He stands up, pulling Cas up with him, and starts stumbling towards the portal, away from the entity, dragging Cas with him. </p><p>The entity walks casually after them, continuing its monologue.</p><p>“This thing sure loves the sound of its own voice,” Dean mutters in Cas’s ear, and his chest jolts hopefully as he hears a small, barely incoherent laugh from the angel.</p><p>“Because you know… they say family doesn’t end in blood. But you, Castiel- well I believe you’ve been the cause of <em>much </em>of their family’s blood. So tell me: why would Dean Winchester even <em>want </em>to remember you?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Dean… Dean.” </em>Cas’s rasps, but Dean doesn’t stop walking until Cas trips, falling to the floor. </p><p>“Cas-hey,” Dean cups the angel’s face urgently trying to shake him into focus. “Cas. <em>Cas. </em>Look at me. You are not giving up.”</p><p>Cas heaves a defeated sigh of exhaustion, and Dean glances at the portal. So close. “Cas we gotta get going, we need to go now—”</p><p>Dean doesn’t realize the empty is standing behind him before it’s too late. Cas’s eyes widen in shock, mouth open in a silent warning, and Dean almost turns around. And then he feels it.</p><p>For one foolish moment, he thinks the entity had simply punched him. A hard hit, no doubt, and to the small of his back. It would hurt later. Once the adrenaline wore off. Nothing he hadn’t handled before.</p><p>Then he feels a strangely cold wind drifting through his body, a warm <em>seeping </em>sensation.. Almost like water running down his stomach. He can hear his own heart pounding. </p><p>
  <em>Odd. </em>
</p><p>Dean looks down and sees a blood drenched blade, its black twisted point sticking straight out of his body, just above his belt. </p><p>
  <em>Oh. </em>
</p><p>His vision flickers, and he falls to his knees, just barely missing Cas’s body, his own blood flowing, dark and thick, around the cold metal in his stomach, and he has a sudden, strange feeling of guilt for ruining Cas’s trench coat.</p><p>“DEAN!” </p><p>He hears the shout. Feels hands clasping his face. But nothing hurts. It’s all just so… <em>black… </em></p><p>And then a sharp pulling, <em>yanking, </em>in his abdomen, and a horrible sensation, like ice being mixed with his insides. There’s a white-hot glimmer of blue light, trailing in tendrils through the air… a scream of fury, and suddenly he’s being dragged by strong hands, his shoulders gripped tightly.</p><p>Golden light splashes across his flickering eyelids, and he hears more shouting. The throbbing pain is beginning to set in, but Dean feels more awake now, as if the numbing surprise has faded into panic.</p><p><em>I’m going to die, </em>he thinks.</p><p>The realization doesn’t feel as shocking as it should. </p><p><br/>
<br/>
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  <em>-------------------------------------------------------</em>
</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>It had been the worst kind of agony, standing outside the rift. Waiting. Hoping. Sam couldn’t see inside the blackness, he couldn’t hear anything.</p><p>He could see Jack struggling to hold open the rift, could see the fatigue quickly taking control, and so when Cas finally stumbled out of the portal, supporting Dean’s limp body against his own, and Jack slammed the golden slit closed, Sam could only feel relief.</p><p>“Cas, what happened—”</p><p>And then he sees the blood. </p><p>Cas’s trenchcoat is drenched in the dark red stains, and Sam notices a strange, fading blue glimmer flickering inside a deep cut on the angel’s throat.</p><p>Charlie gasps, running to support Dean as he crashes to the dungeon’s hard floor. She looks up at Sam and his heart shudders and jolts, seeing the look on her face.“SAM- call 911. Call NOW.”</p><p>For the first time, Sam sees the deep wound inside his brother’s abdomen, gushing a dark stream onto the dungeon floor, Charlie’s small, shaking hand pressed up against Dean’s stomach trying desperately to stem the flow.</p><p>Jack is unconscious. Cas is barely sitting up straight. 911 is the only option.</p><p>Sam almost drops his cellphone to the floor in a panic, but his hands are steady. He’s trained his whole life for situations like this, after all. </p><p>“Hold on, Dean,” he shouts, listening to the ringing tone. “Hold on!”</p><p><br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>How about for that cliffhanger, huh :)?</p><p>- Jupiter</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. I Can't Help Falling In Love With You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hi! I SWEAR THIS WILL BE THE LAST TIME I CHANGE MY NAME I WAS HAVING A NAME CRISIS but hiii it's Blu!! Sorry to keep you guys waiting and it's a short chapter but it seemed right to end it where it was djfdhsdfj don't hate us eeeee ly guys&lt;3</p><p>- Blu</p><p> </p><p>What's up Bitches!!! </p><p>So this is kind of a short chapter—I'm so sorry.<br/>It's been a long time since we posted, and we figured we'd made ya'll wait long enough.</p><p>Anyways…. HERE YOU GO! I hope you all know that your comments on the last chapter… seriously, I am so freaking grateful.</p><p>You guys mean so much to us. </p><p>The next chapter will be ALL HAPPINESS I PROMISE.</p><p> </p><p>-Charlie</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It seemed no matter which way they turned, they kept ending up here. No matter what choices they made, no matter what details they altered… they would always end up here. </p><p>Sacrificing their saved lives to save the life of the sacrificer. Around and around and around. And yet… Castiel knew he would do it a dozen times over, even if it was just to save one human. </p><p>Castiel had lived for a long time. Eleven years was nothing more than a blink compared to his millennia-old consciousness: a <em>footnote </em>tucked inside a single book, hidden inside a library of much thicker, older books.</p><p>But Castiel knew that if given the choice, between spending an eternity with an endless supply of grand novels, or spending a century reading that one footnote, again and again and again… he knew he'd choose the footnote.</p><p>He would turn to that page—no bookmark required—countless times, until the corners were worn and thin, and he would trace gently over the words at the bottom of the page until the ink faded into indecipherable smudges.</p><p>But it wouldn't matter. Because he would remember every letter of that footnote. Would remember every placement of each word, until he could close his eyes and imagine how it looked upon the creased page, even when it ceased to exist.</p><p>That footnote meant more to him than the entire library.</p><p><em>Dean Winchester is saved, </em>the beginning of the footnote read.</p><p>The middle part was more painful, but crucial nonetheless. <em>We're family. I need you.</em></p><p>And the end… it was easy to remember, but not because it was so short. <em>I love you.</em></p><p>An ending Castiel had never expected, yet there it was. Written on a page in plain black ink, as real as it was painful.</p><p>
  <em>I love you.</em>
</p><p>The ending that tied the entire footnote together. Who knew that three simple words could fill in all the missing pieces? Could give so much more meaning to every other word before it.</p><p>That footnote, his time with Dean: the only glimmer of happiness in a library of memories.</p><p>Dean had been his beginning, his middle, and—he'd thought—his end. His glimmer of happiness had become the cause of his death.</p><p>But now, kneeling on the cold stone floor of the dungeon, cradling Dean's bloodied and pierced body, Castiel wished he could go back to the beginning of the footnote, when Dean Winchester had been saved instead of dead. </p><p>
  <em>If this is how the footnote ends, I do not want it. If this is what my love has done, I don't want to feel it.</em>
</p><p>He can hear Sam shouting something. He sees a blurred flash of red hair swoop down in front of them, a small, pale hand drowns itself in dark blood, and Cas's head tilts lethargically to one side, his body threatening to fall on top of Dean's. Being in the Empty had drained his energy as an angel, now that he is out, the effects linger, digging into his weakened human-body without mercy.</p><p><em>Sleep, </em>his fuzzy mind tells him. <em>Fade. Let go. Give in. You can't heal him. You're useless now. There's nothing you can do. He's going to die, and it will be your fault. YOU asked him to save you, and now you can't save him.</em></p><p>Cas squeezes his eyes shut, trying desperately to avoid passing out. At this rate, he’s surprised he hasn’t at least thrown up. He remembers now, the raw and vividly real feeling of <em>humanity. </em></p><p>It hits him, then, the unwelcome epiphany. <em>This is real. </em></p><p>Of course, Cas had thought it was real, the instant he’d heard Dean Winchester’s voice calling his name, he’d known it wasn’t a dream. The prayers surging through his mind had been far too powerful for even the empty to replicate. </p><p>The <em>relief, </em>the <em>love </em>he’d felt, no—a<em>llowed </em>himself to feel! Finally—he didn’t have to stamp down the feelings, he could revel in them and all their intoxicating hopes, and they were real, and it was over, and Cas could finally tell Dean everything. They could have...</p><p>
  <em>Everything.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We’re real. It’s over. I love you.</em>
</p><p>And then Cas had watched as the ebony blade shoved itself viciously through Dean’s body, and the first drop of darkened red blood fell upon the black floor, not even making a sound. There should have been screaming. There should have been noise and words and evidence of the agony he felt, there should have been <em>something</em>—but there was only silence.</p><p>Everyone talks about the agonizing drama of death, the waiting for the end, the suspense. It’s as if every death bed scene is planned for, preparations made so that the grieving can be accompanied by an orchestra of beautiful emotions played out on strings for all to hear. </p><p>And maybe that’s the way it was in movies: the heroes are given crescendos and last words and beautiful goodbyes. </p><p>But the dying are never given such a finale in real life. And no one talks about the silence. The endless ticking nothing that happens in the event of death. </p><p>The non-existent lie there, still as the ground they have fallen upon, and suddenly you realize they aren’t there anymore, even though they’re right in front of you. </p><p>What do you do when there’s nothing left to dread? Because the thing you dreaded the most finally happened, and the person you want to talk to the most is gone, and the memories you love the most seem like dreams because how can they be real if <em>he </em>isn’t real anymore?</p><p>And in that crucial moment, when life turns to death, one second living, the next gone, washed from existence… </p><p>What are you to do then?</p><p>Dean hadn’t even screamed. He didn’t even seem to hear Cas shouting his name. His jade eyes flickered, mouth open in a breathless expression of surprise, and when his knees hit the floor, head falling forward, Cas thought for one foolish moment that this had been a dream after all.</p><p><em>This isn’t happening. This </em>can’t <em>be happening. </em></p><p>Just another method of torture, another poisoned illusion: just like the Empty had said.</p><p>He felt as if he were back in Naomi’s warehouse, watching countless Deans fall to the marble floor, bloodied and silenced by his own hands.</p><p>And he knew he had a choice to make. If he healed Dean, right then and there, the effort would likely knock himself unconscious. Dean might be able to escape… but perhaps not. Castiel’s energy would be drained, rendering him defenseless to any future attacks. They might both be stuck in nothingness. </p><p>In that moment of decision, Castiel remembered the footnote. <em>I would rather live a short, human life with you Dean Winchester, or die trying. </em></p><p>As long as he was an angel, the empty would continue to chase him. They would never be left alone, never be safe. He was, after all, the Empty’s property… as an <em>angel. </em></p><p>So he’d yanked the twisted, silver-handled blade from Dean’s warm body. He’d grit his teeth, and sliced the edge along his own throat, quickly, before the Empty could react. The white-hot grace had seeped from his wound, trailing into the black void with no particular direction to go. </p><p>The slice had been hasty, and he could feel that it was perhaps a bit too deep. He was human now. A wound like that could be fatal. </p><p>Pressing a hand to Dean’s abdomen, he’d thrust the blade upwards at the surprised entity. It wouldn’t kill the being, but he’d hoped the wound would delay it, and it must have worked, because somehow, he’d brought Dean Winchester into the light. Somehow, Jack had closed the void before the empty could retaliate. Somehow, they had gotten another chance to live.</p><p>Cas’s eyes snap open as he hears Dean’s coughing words. A dribble of blood eases its way out of Dean’s mouth as his lungs heave. But even with the struggling, Cas can sense Dean is close to the final fade. </p><p>“<em>Cas-” </em>Dean reaches up a blood soaked hand, gripping Cas’s shoulder. “Cas it’s-it’s over, I’m so sorry- <em>fuck—”</em></p><p>Charlie winces, blinking back the flow of tears as Dean’s chest collapses into another fit of wet coughs. “SAM—you gotta hurry up, it’s not good—”</p><p>Sam turns around, a panicked expression on his face, and he snaps the phone closed, joining Charlie at his brother’s side. “An ambulance is on its way but it’s a long drive— we’re going to meet them halfway, so I need you to go move the car from the garage out to the front of the road.” His voice is firm and leveled, but Cas can hear a barely controlled edge of hysteria in the younger Winchester’s breaths. </p><p>Charlie nods and gets up to leave, but Sam stops her with a hand. “Grab the first-aid kit—it’s on the map room table. Make sure it has bandages, and a lot of them.”</p><p> Sam presses a large hand to Dean’s wound, applying as much pressure as he can. Cas feels dizzier than ever before, and he wonders how much blood loss his vessel—his <em>body—</em>can sustain before falling into a comatose state. </p><p>
  <em>Just a little longer. For Dean. </em>
</p><p>“Cas-” Dean looks him in the eyes and pulls the backwards blue tie from around Cas’s neck, forcing the once-angel to lean down. Dean’s words are quiet, and Cas is horrified to hear a tinge of happiness, of <em>acceptance, </em>gracing the dying man’s face… as if he’s okay with <em>leaving </em>like this. </p><p>“<em>Cas-</em> I love you, you- you know that right?”</p><p>Cas can’t say anything, for fear that a scream will come out. He only nods, and Dean’s eyes shut for a moment. Cas barely hears the next words, he is focusing too much on Dean’s closed eyelids, imagining how it will look when—</p><p>“-just tell me we’re okay. Cas- <em>just tell me we’re okay.”</em></p><p>Dean grips the blue tie tighter in his fist, and Cas heaves forward, pressing his lips against Dean’s cooling hand, the hot tears finally flooding from his throat, from his chest, from his eyes. They fall one by one, melding invisibly with the dark pool of blood collecting on Dean’s stomach. </p><p>“G<em>oodbye, Cas.” </em></p><p>A whisper shouldn’t be so painful. </p><p>“No- <em>Dean-</em>” Cas can barely form the words. “-I won’t let you die. Don’t do this.<em> I love you—”</em></p><p>The words come out so naturally, and he whispers them again. “I love you too<em>, </em>Dean<em>. </em>I always have.”</p><p>Dean’s grip on the tie weakens, and the corners of his bloody lips creep upwards, a ghost of a smile. </p><p>“I guess-” he breathes out a rattling laugh. “I guess this makes us a couple of dumbasses, huh- finally saying it on our freakin’ deathbed-” </p><p>Cas tastes salt as a tear slips in through his own half-smile, and he presses a quaking kiss to Dean’s forehead. “The next time I say it you’re going to be okay, Dean, you’re going to be alive, and we’ll have plenty of time to say it, and—”</p><p>His words are interrupted by Charlie at the door. “The car’s ready.” She’s breathless, her face red and puffy, and Cas realizes in almost drunken amusement that all of their hands are now covered in Dean’s blood. </p><p>Sam nods at Charlie and thrusts both arms beneath Dean’s limp body, struggling to heft his brother to his feet. “Keep your hand pressed there-” and Dean complies weakly, one hand slung over Sam’s tall shoulders, the other splayed across his abdomen.</p><p>“Charlie- keep watch on Cas. I’ll be right back. Don’t let him try to get up.” They stumble out the door, and Cas wonders if it’s the last he’ll ever see of Dean. Any second— it could all be over.</p><p>
  <em>All the times I’ve healed his wounds, each scrape and scratch—but now, when it really counts, I can’t even—</em>
</p><p>Cas heaves a breath, and leans backwards against the wall, his vision blurring. And he waits. Waits to live. Waits to die. As a human, there is no sure answer, no permanent absolution. Sudden accidents, sickness, hunger, and eventually: death. He is vulnerable to all of it now. </p><p>Cas had never cared before, what happened to himself. His purpose, his existence, had centered around protecting Dean Winchester, and if he died in his mission, at least Dean would be saved.</p><p>But now….</p><p>
  <em>I can’t die. Not when everything is coming together. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dean would kill me, if I died after everything we just went through. </em>
</p><p>He smiles a bit at the thought. It is precisely something Dean <em>would </em>say. </p><p>Sam appears in the doorway a few minutes later, haggard and covered in blood. Cas lifts his gaze weakly, and tries, unsuccessfully, to pull his own weight as Sam helps him through the doorway. They move as quickly as possible. </p><p>Many years ago, Castiel would have felt humiliation, being helped along by a human, by Sam Winchester; the boy with the demon blood. The “abomination.”</p><p>But that was before he’d fallen in love with Dean. That was before Dean taught him to care, about Sam, about Jack, about the whole world. </p><p>
  <em>Who would I be—what kind of a senseless monster would I have become if not for Dean Winchester? </em>
</p><p>Charlie sits in the front seat, hands fiddling nervously with the first-aid kit. Dean is lying in the backseat, his legs bent upright to accommodate the small area. “Cas, are you going to be okay in the backseat with Dean- I need someone to make sure he’s still-” Sam stops speaking, and Cas nods quickly, understanding. He climbs into the back seat, laying Dean’s head across his lap. There is blood everywhere. Too much. Far too much. </p><p>Sam slams a foot on the pedal, and the bunker fades into the distance. The meter climbs, 40, 60, 70… Charlie hands them a bundle of bandages. “It won’t be enough- but it’s better than hands. Just apply pressure.” Cas nods, and Dean gasps a bit as his shirt is pulled away, exposing the puncture wound to the cool air. </p><p>Cas presses most of the clean cloths to the wound, applying pressure with one hand. His other hand curls through Dean’s hair, fingers desperately trying to comfort the shaking man beneath them. </p><p>He’s never had to give comfort in this way. Never allowed himself the luxury of touching Dean, not like this. </p><p>
  <em>Why did we wait so long- why did we wait until now-</em>
</p><p>“Cas,” Dean breathes, his eyes wide and glassy. He looks scared. “I can’t breathe- I need- talk to me-”</p><p>Cas ignores the choking sob building inside his throat, ignores the creeping blackness inside his own thoughts, the fuzzy spots collecting inside every blink. <em>Death can wait. </em></p><p>He fights for words, but what is there to say? How do you find words when you know they could be your last? What do you say when any second could be the one you finally cease to exist?</p><p>He remembers his happiest moment. He’d had no words then, but if there were ever a chance to redeem his silence, now is the time.</p><p>“Dean,” he clears his throat. “You know- I always wondered, ever since I made the deal, I wondered what it could be, what… what my true happiness could even look like.”</p><p>Dean melts into his touch, his chest calming. Cas tries to take this as a good sign. Tries to continue.</p><p>“I thought I knew- I guessed, at least. What it would be, what would happen.” He huffs out a weak laugh, combing cold fingers through Dean’s soft hair. “I thought that <em>I </em>would be the one to tell you— and so I thought as long as I… kept it a secret, I’d never have to leave you. Because- the one thing I wanted…. It was something I thought I couldn’t have.” </p><p>He feels a stinging tear slide its way down his cheeks, landing soundlessly in Dean’s mussed and bloody hair. </p><p>“I- I thought you would never feel the same way. But you do.” It feels good to say that. To know that his happiness could be more than just stolen moments and hidden memories. </p><p><em>I can have this happiness. </em>We <em>can have it. </em></p><p>Dean winces as the car jolts. “So... you just- never made a move on me? Cause you thought I didn’t feel the same way- that this, <em>us- </em>it would never be real?”</p><p>Cas shakes his head. “Dean- don’t you understand? All these reasons, all the things we’ve done for each other— we’ve been real long before this. We were just too stupid to believe the other would feel the same way.” His words are bitter, and he feels Dean coughing weakly, head shaking against his thigh. The only thing he can do is keep talking. </p><p>“I wanted you to know how I felt, Dean. I wanted it so badly-”</p><p>“-then why didn’t you show me, Cas,” Dean whispers, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain, and Cas can see a single tear slide down the side of freckled cheeks, falling onto Cas’s black slacks. </p><p>“Dean… I <em>tried </em>to show you. With actions, because I knew you didn’t want to use words.”</p><p>
  <em>I gave up my homeland for you, because you had become my home.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I gave up my kin for you, because you became my family.</em>
</p><p><em>I gave up an entire garrison of angels, because you were the one thing worth fighting for, the one thing I </em>wanted <em>to fight for.</em></p><p>
  <em>For you, I defied Naomi.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For you, I healed Lisa.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>For you, I hid my love. </em>
</p><p><em>“</em>I gave up everything, I rebelled against everything I'd ever known: for <em>you, </em>Dean. Because… all those things I gave up, all the things I did, I was trying to <em>show </em>you how I felt, because I knew you wouldn’t want my words.”</p><p>
  <em>And when I was lying on my deathbed, and I had nothing else to give, I told you I loved you, all of you, every part of you, every flaw and imperfection, and still you didn’t seem to understand.</em>
</p><p>Cas stares ahead, into the morning sun. The light feels out of place amidst everything that has happened. It should be darker. It should be sunset, when everything bright fades in one last glorious display of color, the last crescendo of life before darkness. </p><p>It doesn’t seem appropriate. Dying in broad daylight. But the world won’t stop, even for its saviors. </p><p>What a cruel, and bitter ending, that Dean should die like this, stabbed in the gut, just before his life could begin. <em>Our life. </em></p><p>“Dean,” Cas breathes out. “I’m sorry I never told you. Maybe there was some human expression I should have used instead, some words, maybe then you would have understood, but-”</p><p>“No-” Dean winces, “Cas, you don’t have to apologize for something like that-”</p><p>They hear faint sirens in the distance, and Sam pulls over on the side of the road, then gets out with Charlie, waving their arms rapidly in the air. Cas can feel his vision fading, finally, as if he’d been waiting until the last possible second to let go.</p><p>
  <em>Please, if we leave this world today, at least let me die first, so I won’t have to die twice. </em>
</p><p>Cas doesn’t know who he’s praying to. But somehow, it helps. </p><p>“<em>I love you, Dean,” </em>he whispers as his head falls backwards, the cold air wafting into the cut on his throat. It feels far too icy. </p><p>
  <em>I’ve loved you. For so long.</em>
</p><p>He holds onto Dean’s hand as long as he can. He dreams of strangers, frantically talking over his head, of watching Dean’s body being put on a white stretcher. He dreams of moving, and looking up at an unfamiliar ceiling, full of faces and bright lights and tubes. </p><p>He dreams of a long endless highway, of too much silence from the man next to him. He dreams of going home.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>------------------------------------------------</em>
</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>Cas wakes up on a Thursday. </p><p>At least, that’s what the nurse tells him when she appears in the doorway. Her smile is wide and true when she sees his wakeful expression, and Cas is once again struck by humanity’s oddly beautiful sense of compassion, even towards strangers like himself.</p><p>“You chose a good day to wake up, sir! Thursday was forecasted to be especially sunny, and well—” she gestures at the bright sunshine pouring into his hospital room, “for once, the weathermen were right.” </p><p>Cas’s head bumps against the headstand as he sits up, fully awake, the memories slamming back in a torrent of panic. “DEAN— where is <em>Dean—” </em></p><p>The nurse, Liv, rushes over and presses a firm hand against Castiel’s chest. He is dismayed to notice that her gentle pressure is more than enough to stop his weakened body from getting up. </p><p>“SIR—Clarence, is it? That’s what the tall man said—you can’t get up right now, please just stay calm.”</p><p>Cas settles back into the pillow, hands gripping the sheets, eyes squeezed shut against the sudden onslaught of purple fuzzy flares erupting behind his eyelids. Dizziness is, so far, one of his least favorite human experiences. It’s rather debilitating. </p><p>Liv sighs, and re-adjusts the tubes. “I really should have expected this— after the other one’s reaction. He did the same thing you know, soon as he woke up. Actually—” she frowns at her wrist watch, “just about an hour ago. We had to bring in the doctor and another nurse just to keep him from leaping out of the bed.”</p><p>She gives an accusatory squint in Cas’s direction. “I assume he was trying to see you, although he kept saying ‘Cas’ instead of ‘Clarence.’”</p><p>Cas doesn’t know how to answer. He’s too busy re-learning how to breathe. <em>Dean is alive. He’s alive. I’m alive. It’s over.</em></p><p>Castiel had never understood the expression, ‘I feel like I could fly.’ As an angel, he <em>had </em>flown, quite literally. It was undoubtedly a pleasant experience, and was missed deeply on the several occasions he’d been deprived of his wings… but there were far better experiences. Far better comparisons. </p><p>But now, sitting in a hospital bed, saved from both death and from the worst kind of agony, he finally understands the saying…. The similarity between lightness of flight, and the lightness he feels in his chest… It is the perfect metaphor. </p><p>He opens his mouth to speak, but the nurse smiles and answers before he can even get a word out. “He is sleeping right now, we had to put him under just to keep him from wandering the halls looking for you. But I think <em>you’re </em>well enough to move—so if you like—”</p><p><em>“Yes,”</em> Cas interrupts breathlessly, and Liv smiles in amusement at his obvious impatience. The walk down the hallway to Dean’s hospital room seems far longer than it should, but eventually they stop at a door and Cas feels a fluttering sensation take root in his stomach. </p><p>Of course—the nurse hadn’t been lying. Dean is sleeping, peacefully stretched out on the white hospital bed, and as Castiel steps closer, he can see the morning sunlight casting Dean’s eyelashes and hair in gold warmth. He looks peaceful, and Cas’s lips curve upwards, a soft sigh of relief escaping from between them.</p><p>If things had gone differently, he might have been standing here at this very moment, staring down at the same beautiful face.. But it would be cast in a very different kind of peace. </p><p>Castiel knows there is no god or angel to thank for this outcome. </p><p>There is only Sam; the brave and level-headed brother who pulled them both from blackness with his quick thinking and enduring strength.</p><p>There is only Charlie, who gave all she could, who was there for him, by his side, when Sam had pulled Dean from the room, when he’d been left waiting in darkness: the red-headed girl had been there, with all her kindness and soft touches. </p><p>There is only Jack. His son. The nephilim created by Lucifer, placed on the edge of a knife from the moment he was born, destined to be evil, his fate chosen by others…. But in the end, he chose to be a hero.</p><p>There is only Dean Winchester. And for him, Castiel has no adequate words, no worthy monologues of gratitude. For him, words do not suffice. </p><p>For him, there is only love. </p><p>Castiel pulls an armchair over to Dean’s side, making sure to avoid the cords and tubes that are keeping Dean alive. The nurse leaves with a knowing smile gracing her features, and closes the door with a soft click. They are alone.</p><p>Cas feels his own smile welling up, and a tear slips down his face as he takes Dean’s warm hand between his own, tracing over each finger. </p><p>
  <em>You’ve taken my whole life, Dean Winchester. I suppose I couldn’t help it—falling in love with you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You never believed in fate, or destiny… but I think some things are meant to be. We were meant to be… if only because we never wanted to give up on one another, despite everything that stood in our way.</em>
</p><p>Cas wants so badly, to kiss the man he loves, to lean over and finally…</p><p>But he waits. He’s waited eleven years. He can wait a little longer.</p><p>The steady beeping of the machines are calming, in a way. Evidence that Dean is alive. And Cas knows he won’t let go of Dean’s hand… not now, and not ever.</p><p><em>“I’ll watch over you,” </em>the once angel whispers. </p><p>This is a new kind of bond. He may not be able to read Dean’s soul as he used to… but this intimacy is far better. It’s a promise.</p><p>For all that is to come.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Healing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Happy 43rd Birthday Jensen Ackles! You'll never read this, (unless you do, in which case.... well hot damn)</p><p>But Jensen: you deserved better, and so did Dean Winchester.<br/>This chapter is dedicated to you in all its fluffy happiness. </p><p>This is the happiness Dean deserved.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hi guys!! blu here!!!</p><p>soooo this keeps getting dragged out longer and longer and yes this is a helluva long chapter but its so worth it HEJSJEJS<br/>also, there's a spotify playlist for reasons you'll find out as you read, so that'll be in the end notes!!</p><p>-blu</p><p>p.s. charlie and i are going to be starting a new fic after this one is done, so, watch out for that in the coming weeks!!</p><p> </p><p>'SUP, BITCHES!</p><p>FINALLY! SOME FLUFF AND HAPPINESS!<br/>So this chapter is mostly Blu's beautiful work,  and damn, ya'll are lucky I have such a merciful co-author, cause this chapter is pure happiness thanks to them. (!!!!!! something you're not used to, I know) </p><p>Thank you Blu for being the fluff to my angst. We make such a perfect team, and I can't wait to keep writing with you.</p><p>ALSO: thank YOU GUYS for your BEAUTIFUL FRICKING COMMENTS. I have cried a couple times reading them, and istg some of these comments are the longest I've ever seen on AO3. (you know who you are &lt;3) </p><p>Your comments make us SO DAMN EXCITED. Please leave your thoughts and jibberish down below, cause seriously: you guys mean the world to Blu and I. </p><p>(also: 80K WORDS WOOT WOOT)</p><p>-Charlie</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dean’s eyes blink open, taking in the bright sunlight that lies across his chest in golden ribbons, then up to the person sitting next to him. </p><p>“Cas?” </p><p>The blue eyes crinkle into a smile. “Dean.”</p><p>Cas is sitting in an armchair right beside his bed. His face is gaunt, and he has a bandage on his neck, but he looks happy. He’s holding Dean’s hand. </p><p>Dean tries to sit up, but finds he can’t; stiff bandages are wrapped around his middle. “Cas, what happened? Are we okay? Where are we?” A tight ball of panic unfurls in his stomach.</p><p>“Dean, honey, no,” Cas reaches forward, caressing Dean’s cheek. “It’s okay, we’re okay. We’re in the hospital. Jack’s here too, don’t worry. Sam and Charlie are in the waiting room, sleeping.”</p><p>Dean takes a deep breath. “Why am I all wrapped up?”</p><p>Cas’s expression changes to something darker. “You…. The Empty stabbed you when we were escaping. I took the knife and cut my grace out. We nearly died.”</p><p>The memories flood back as Dean feels a sharp aching sensation in his abdomen. The empty. The blade. Cas, holding him gently as they lay on the dungeon floor, so close to death. Then being moved to the impala… and Cas, telling him everything he ever wanted to hear. </p><p>And now, Dean remembers: there had been a strange wound on Cas’s throat; he’d lain in the backseat, staring up at that bloody gash. Wondering why it had been there. Wondering what Cas had done. </p><p>And then it had all faded—and he’d woken up alone in a bright room, and Cas hadn’t been there, and he’d somehow fallen asleep again, but it hadn’t felt like sleep. </p><p>It felt like pacing up and down empty hallways, searching for someone, but every room was filled with dead people, and he kept thinking ‘<em>it’s okay, Cas can heal them, Cas can help them, I just have to find Cas. I just have to find the angel.’ </em></p><p>And then, finally, the hallway of corpses had ended. And in the very last door, in the very last room, Cas had been waiting for him. Only instead of an angel, he’d been just like all the others. A corpse. A human corpse. And Dean had stumbled out of the doorway, only to find himself back at the beginning of the hallway, searching for Cas, screaming Cas’s name to walls that wouldn’t answer.</p><p>When he’d finally woken up, he’d dismissed the dream. Tried to forget it. Tried to forget the fear. But now…. Maybe one part of it had been true after all.</p><p>
  <em>Cas is… human? Because of me?</em>
</p><p>“Cas, no, wait, you’re telling me…” Dean’s voice falters.</p><p>“Yes, I am human, but I don’t regret it so don’t you <em>dare </em>feel guilty.” Cas’s voice is firm, and Dean swallows back an apology. Even without his mojo, Cas still knows what he’s thinking.</p><p>“My grace was dwindling anyway. It’s better this way.” </p><p>Leaning in, Cas presses a tender kiss to Dean’s forehead. His lips are warm, and full of life, and Dean softens beneath the once-angel’s touch, feeling his clenched chest finally relax. </p><p>Cas is so <em>close, </em>only a breath away, and Dean takes his love’s face in both hands, just <em>looking</em>. </p><p>And it’s all his to look at.</p><p>Cas’s beautiful eyes, his perfect nose, sharp cheekbones, rough stubble, everything.</p><p>
  <em>My future.</em>
</p><p>His jade eyes flicker over Cas’s face, his chest filling with a lightness, a bursting emotion that he can’t quite label, but never wants to stop feeling. </p><p>“I love you.” Dean whispers.</p><p>“I know.”</p><p>“Hey, stop stealing all my best lines!” Dean laughs, and when Cas grins, it's the most beautiful thing Dean has ever seen. </p><p>Beautiful because it’s all he’s ever wanted to see. Beautiful because it was once considered rare, but now it holds a promise to become more frequent. Beautiful because finally, Dean knows this is a smile he can look back on with happiness. It isn’t a deathbed moment, and it isn’t a lie, and it isn’t a cover up for some hidden pain: it’s real. Real happiness.</p><p>The two inch closer, and Dean can practically <em>feel </em>the dumb smile on his face, but he doesn’t care. He breathes out a soft laugh, the bursting sensation in his chest becoming too much to hold in. </p><p>Cas tilts his head slightly, smiling at Dean’s expression. “What?”</p><p>“I just- it’s funny— we’ve stood so close like this, so many times before, and never—” Dean’s words glitch, and he wonders if he’s presuming too much. </p><p>
  <em>Maybe Cas doesn’t want to kiss me yet, this is so new, and maybe Cas wants to take it slow, maybe—</em>
</p><p><em>This is stupid, </em>Dean thinks, and sliding one hand around the back of Cas’s neck, Dean doesn’t try to explain. He doesn’t try to second guess himself. No more doubts. </p><p>“<em>I want—” </em>Dean doesn’t finish his whispered sentence, he feels Cas’s warm breath mingle with his own, and it’s all over.</p><p>When their lips meet, it’s everything and not enough. It’s everything because it’s <em>Cas</em>. But it’s also not enough for the exact same reason. </p><p>The kiss is deep and full of passion, but it isn’t sexual. It’s pure love. Cas leans into him with a pleased hum.</p><p><em>Okay wow. Okay. I could get used to this, </em>Dean thinks, smiling giddily into the deepening kiss, his fingers tickling the soft locks at the nape of his angel’s neck. </p><p><em>Ironic… </em>Dean almost laughs, but his breath dies away as Cas’s free hand reaches up, curling into Dean’s hair with just the right amount of possessiveness. </p><p>
  <em>...I wanted free will and I fell in love with heaven’s rebel. And Cas fell in love with humanity… so much so, that he became a part of it.</em>
</p><p>Cas goes to pull away, both of them out of breath, but Dean drags him back into even more kisses with a small impatient noise. </p><p>A throat clearing in the background interrupts their moment. </p><p>“<em>Shit</em>,” Dean mutters, and Cas turns around to see a woman with long dark hair and round glasses standing in the doorway.</p><p>“Ah—this is Liv. She’s your- nurse,” Cas stammers out, sitting back in his chair, and Dean is amused to see a faint blush rising on the once-angel’s cheeks. He smirks.</p><p>“Hey, Dean. Glad to see you’re awake. I suppose Clarence here must have woken you up,” Liv raises a sharp, accusatory eyebrow in Cas’s direction.</p><p>
  <em>Clarence?</em>
</p><p>Dean shoots Cas a questioning look. He responds with one of his own that clearly says <em>just roll with it</em>.</p><p>Liv walks over to the other side of the bed, apparently checking Dean’s vitals and charts.</p><p>“So, Dean. Yesterday was such a rush to get you stabilized, we still don’t know how you got stabbed. Can you tell me about it?”</p><p>Dean looks to Cas, not sure what to say. They hadn’t exactly had time to plan out a cover story. Cas takes an intake of breath and starts to speak, but Sam crashes into the room last moment. </p><p>“Dean!” He pushes for room at his brother’s side. “Oh my god, you’re okay—”</p><p>“Sir, if you don’t mind, I was just asking Mr. Winchester and Mr. Novak about what happened yesterday morning—” Liv looks annoyed at getting interrupted. </p><p>“Oh, my apologies.” Sam quiets down, giving Dean a meaningful glance before turning to the nurse and gesturing at the door. “I can tell you outside, if you’d like.”</p><p>Cas exhales a breath of relief, and gives Sam a grateful nod. “Yes, if you don’t mind, I would prefer that. Sam knows all of what happened, and I would like to be alone with Dean right now.”</p><p>“But—” the nurse stops, seemingly thinking it over. “Fine.”</p><p>She follows Sam out of the door, casting a suspicious look at Dean and Cas. </p><p>Wincing, Dean shifts around in the hospital bed, trying to sit up in a more comfortable position.</p><p>“Can’t wait to get out of this friggin’ hospital,” he mutters, and Cas’s lips twitch upwards at the familiarity of Dean’s grumpy morning behavior. </p><p>Dean catches a glimpse of his angel’s amused smirk. “Oh, shut up,” he says as he takes Cas’s hand.</p><p>They sit in a comfortable silence, simply content to just be together. Then Dean frowns, as if remembering something.</p><p>“Wait—Cas. Earlier. Did you… call me- <em>honey?” </em></p><p>Cas blinks, glancing tentatively at Dean’s expression. “Yes… I- I know it is customary among couples to call each other by affectionate nicknames. I didn’t know which ones you would prefer, so…” he wets his lips nervously. “Would you rather I only call you Dean?”</p><p>“<em>No-</em> no, Cas,” Dean assures him quickly, “You can call me whatever you want. I like it- trust me.” </p><p>Cas still doesn’t seem to believe his words, so Dean reaches up a hand to grip Cas’s shoulder. “<em>Really. </em>I like it.”</p><p>Nodding, Cas meets his gaze, and Dean wonders if he’ll ever get tired of their color. No color is worthy of describing Cas… but blue, well. <em>Blue is damn close.</em></p><p>“So…” Dean smirks, sitting back in the bed. “What were some of the other nicknames you were thinking up, huh?”</p><p>“Now that we are boyfriends? Well—”</p><p>“Wait-” Dean interrupts, grimacing at the word. “Cas- do me a favor. Just don’t— don’t call us that.”</p><p>Cas tilts his head, puzzled by Dean’s reaction. “Call us what? Boyfriends?”</p><p>‘Yeah. I just… it doesn’t feel right, y’know? It’s too… casual. Too temporary. It doesn’t fit—” Dean gestures at the both of them. “—<em>this. </em>Us. and I don’t know what does, but—”</p><p>“Bondmates.”</p><p>Dean blinks, taken aback by Cas’s confidence. “What?”</p><p>“Do you remember when I said angels choose one mate for a lifetime? And that mate is referred to as a bondmate?” Cas smiles softly. “I would like you to be my bondmate, Dean. If you are willing.”</p><p>“<em>Willing</em>?” Dean’s voice cracks, and he feels a new clenching in his chest. But this is the good kind of ache. The ache that grows and becomes an ache called happiness.</p><p>But first, there are apparently a few lingering doubts that need to be taken care of.</p><p>“Cas- this is new. I get that,” Dean nods, meeting Cas’s gaze. “And it's going to change everything. And I want that, believe me.”</p><p>“But— if it's going to change everything then we gotta change too. No more doubts. We have to stop second guessing this. And I know—” Dean takes a breath, trying to stem the onslaught of memories. All the times he’d pushed Cas away, in fear of these <em>doubts. </em>“—it's mostly me. I never thought- I didn't <em>believe- </em>that someone like you could care for me.”</p><p>
  <em>The righteous man, they called me. But I sure as hell didn’t feel righteous, lying alone in bed every night, drunk on a dangerous mixture of whiskey and guilt. Guilt for all the times I taught you pain. Guilt for all the times you stood too close, and I wished you’d stood just a little closer, but I never said anything, I never—</em>
</p><p>“But after all the crap we've been through…” Dean clears his throat, fiddling with their entwined fingers. </p><p>“Cas- you're my everything,too, y'know.”</p><p>It takes all his willpower not to kiss his angel again, but there’s still so much he wants to say. <em>Needs </em>to say.</p><p>“And…” Dean breathes out a quiet laugh, feeling lightheaded. “This is crazy. I dreamt of this moment for so long, of moments like this, just—just <em>being </em>here with you, with everything out in the open, and… I spent my whole goddamn life fighting this crap, fighting these—these feelings. All because of my Dad, and I’m so sorry, Cas, that I made you think your love couldn't be matched. I'm so sorry—”</p><p>“Dean, we've been through this—”</p><p>“I know.” Dean holds up a hand, and gives a weak smile. “I know. I gotta be honest, man- I… I'm not good with this whole, uh… love. And.. Love. Thing. But I do believe in us.”</p><p>“And maybe we don’t look like much— two beat up soldiers with miles of baggage and too many fights. And maybe some people will think we’re too broken to make this work, because they can’t see what we’ve survived, they only see the damages.”</p><p>
  <em>That’s what being human is, after all. Doubting beauty. Falling in love with the pain, because it’s the only part of life that ever stays around… until you lose faith in everything good, because you can’t remember the last time anything good ever happened.</em>
</p><p>“And I guess once, I didn’t have faith in stuff I couldn’t see. I needed proof, to believe in <em>anything. </em>But I think… I just really needed someone to believe in me.” </p><p>Dean meets Cas’s gaze once again, and he wonders if this beautiful beginning will ever fully set in, or if it will always feel new. </p><p>“I believe we're real, Cas.”</p><p>“We are, Dean. We're real.” </p><p>The room is quiet, awash in sunlight and it should be peaceful, but Dean can’t help worrying. Cas notices, of course he does, because he doesn’t need angelic superpowers to know what Dean is thinking.</p><p>“Are you… nervous?” Cas’s voice is gentle, but unworried, and Dean wants to stop these <em>thoughts, </em>these whispers that yes, this might be real, but for how long? </p><p>
  <em>How long until I fuck everything up?</em>
</p><p>Dean swallows, refusing to meet Cas’s eyes. “Maybe.”</p><p>“I know the feeling,” Cas nods. “But it's okay to be scared, Dean. This… right here. You and me. There's nothing standing in our way anymore. We can have this.”</p><p>Cas leans in and presses a gentle kiss to Dean’s lips. They both want more, but this is enough. For now. Closing his eyes, Dean tilts into the touch, their foreheads brushing together, and Dean can’t remember what he’d been worried about. </p><p>
  <em>It’s been a long and winding road. But I’ve learned a lot about what’s false and what’s real. And this…. I have faith in what I see.</em>
</p><p>“So…” Dean feels a smile lift the corners of his lips, and it’s so wonderful to not have to force it. To just feel it happen. </p><p>“Bondmates, huh?”</p><p>“Bondmates,” Cas agrees, with a soft hum.</p><p>“I like the sound of that.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>-----------------------------------------------------------</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>A week later, Dean, Cas, and Jack are all discharged. Not completely healed, per se, but well enough to no longer require hospitalization. </p><p>Liv hands Jack a list of things to remember while Dean gets better. “Remember to drink <em>lots</em> of fluids, especially soup and water, and to get plenty of rest, try not to move too much—”</p><p>Cas smiles gently, pushing Dean’s wheelchair. “Yes, thank you, Liv, I really appreciate it. See you in a few weeks.” </p><p>Dean has another surgery scheduled to get his stitches removed. How they’re going to scrape together the money for that, Dean has no idea. </p><p>“Babe, can we go now, I’m tired.” Dean complains from his chair. </p><p>“Yes, sweetheart, we are, we still have to wait for Sam, he’s coming with a van for your wheelchair.” Cas’s voice is soothing above him. </p><p>Dean mutters darkly under his breath. “Stupid fucking wheelchair. Can’t even ride in Baby for my grand journey home.”</p><p>Jack laughs, catching Dean’s grumbling.</p><p>An ugly-ass beige van rolls up, and Dean sputters incredulously. “We’re going to the bunker in <em>THAT</em>?!”</p><p>“What?” Liv says, snapping her head around to stare oddly at the group, and Cas speaks quickly to cover up Dean’s mistake. </p><p>“Our house is very large, so Dean made up a nickname calling it ‘the bunker’. You know.” </p><p>Liv seems to <em>not</em> know, but she nods all the same.</p><p>Slamming the door shut, Sam walks up to his family. “Hey guys. Looking way better from when I last saw you.”</p><p>He hugs each of them in turn, stooping down for Dean.</p><p>“Hey, bitch.” Dean snarks. </p><p>“Jerk.” Sam rolls his eyes as he opens the back doors, a ramp pulling out. “So, Ca- ahem, <em>Clarence</em>, you’ll need to sit with Dean in the back. Jack, wanna sit up front?”</p><p>“No problem.” Jack shoots Liv a sunny smile before climbing in.</p><p>After rolling Dean into the van, and locking the wheelchair in place, Cas sits in the seat next to Dean, holding his hand. </p><p>The ride back is quiet, but not in a bad way. It’s comfortable.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>----------------------------------------------------</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Dean?” Cas reaches out a tentative hand to pause the movie.</p><p>It’s been almost a month since the rescue. </p><p>Dean still has dreams about it every night, but for the first time ever, he can wake up to a life that is better than the nightmares. He doesn’t need to keep a whiskey bottle on the bedside table anymore. Because now, he has a far healthier addiction. He has Cas’s strong arms, and whispered words, and kisses that come unannounced, without hesitation. And so he heals. </p><p>Dean can’t explain it, this feeling of being complete. It’s as if… before Cas, before <em>this, </em>the world had flashed through his eyes like water through a siphon, but he’d seen only shades of red, angry and dangerous. </p><p>Red like the buckets of blood he’d spilled, some he owned, some he didn’t. </p><p>Red like the shattered pieces of that motel lamp. </p><p>Red like the sound of his screams, the race of his pulse. </p><p>Red, the fading color of his heart falling to his knees, the stains on the door, the spots in his vision, the heat of battles, the color that threatens, that whispers to <em>run, </em>to <em>leave, </em>to <em>abandon</em>… </p><p>Red was the color of his life when Cas wasn’t there to paint over it with blue.</p><p>So for the first time, Dean feels like he’s going forward instead of back. But right now, sitting on their bed watching a movie on his laptop, thigh pressed against Cas’s pajama-clad leg, he smiles, remembering a very similar scenario: the night it all began.</p><p><em>The movie </em>Tombstone<em> will never be the same. </em></p><p>Dean turns his head to look at Cas, not being able to do so with his torso. The stitches were taken out a few days ago, but the wound is far from healed. “Yeah?”</p><p>“There’s something I’d like to give you,” Cas says quietly.</p><p>Even in the low light, Dean is aware Cas is nervous. </p><p>“A while ago, uh, you gave me a mixtape of your favorite Led Zeppelin songs. I’ve kept it with me, always. But I’d like to return the favor. So, with Sam’s help, I made you one. I-I hope you like it.”</p><p>Cas hands Dean a blue cassette tape labelled with the words “For Dean, from Cas.” A teeny, inked heart is drawn next to the text.</p><p>Dean immediately feels his throat start to close up and his eyes begin to water. He takes it with trembling hands.</p><p>“Dean?” Cas dips his head. “Is something wrong? Did I not do it right?”</p><p>“No, Cas. God no. It’s just… This is the nicest thing anyone has done for me. Maybe ever.” Tears drip down the bedridden hunter’s cheeks.</p><p>He turns to grip his bondmate’s jaw and kisses him firmly. “I have a walkman and earbuds in the bedside drawer next to you,” Dean whispers. </p><p>Cas scrambles to turn the computer off and retrieve the items. </p><p>Dean pops the cassette in the player, and gently eases one of the earbuds in Cas’s ear, then his own.</p><p>“These are all songs that have reminded me of us when I hear them.” Cas confesses, as a familiar tune begins playing in Dean’s left ear.</p><p>
  <em>Dear Prudence, won't you come out to play</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Prudence, greet the brand new day</em>
</p><p>“I love this song.” Dean snuggles in closer to Cas, drifting off to sleep.</p><p>“And I love you.” It’s so quiet it’s almost a whisper.</p><p>
  <em>The sun is up, the sky is blue</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It's beautiful and so are you</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Dear Prudence, won't you come out to play</em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>----------------------------------------------------</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Hey, Charlie!” Sam greets the tired hunter at the bunker door. “I have some tea in the kitchen. Want a cup?”</p><p>Charlie had been on a ridiculously long ghost hunt in the nearby county and needed a place to crash. </p><p>Toys were magically murdering children while they played, and it turned out, it was the spirit of a young boy who, for some reason, thought it would be a good idea to leave his connecting item in a <em>treehouse</em> in the middle of a <em>friggin’ swamp</em>.</p><p>“Ehh, let me shower first. Swamp gunk is super freaking disgusting.” Charlie says.</p><p>“Yeah, alright, understandable. You can take Cas’s old room, if you want.” Sam wrinkles his nose at the mud on the shiny floor.</p><p>“Old room? Why isn’t he using it anymore?” Charlie picks up her bags and steps down the hallway, Sam following suit.</p><p>A smirk spreads over the man’s features. “We-ell, for the past month, Cas kind of permanently moved into Dean’s room. They’re there right now, if you want to say hi later.”</p><p>Charlie giggles. “Don’t mind if I will. Reading those Winchester Gospels finally will have paid off.”</p><p>A long, hot, shower later and Charlie is in Cas’s ex-room. As she sits on the bed, something crinkly tickles her leg.</p><p><em>What the hell?</em> She thinks, grabbing a knife.</p><p>She bends down to look at <em>whatever it is</em>, but it’s only…</p><p>Papers?</p><p>Charlie carefully extracts the hastily-shoved, crinkled, pages from under the mattress. </p><p>She unfolds them, and starts to read the typed words.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>Rustling feathers in the blackness</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Flashes of life among the stillness</em>
</p><p>
  <em>An echo of breeze, I can only hope it's your breath</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I'll never admit it</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I think I'm in love</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Echoing looks cure the silence</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We crash and rise among the quiet</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm thinking of you as I hold myself in the darkness</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I'll never admit it</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I think I'm in love</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I'm hiding myself among their assumptions</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My heartbeat slows then rises faster</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I've had dreams of us that maybe you'd think are wicked</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I'll never admit it</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I think I'm in love</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Your eyes cure my demons, black drowns in your blue</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Black wings lift my soul, the color of you</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You gave me everything, and I taught you humanity</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I'll never admit it</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I think I'm in love</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Green earth meets the heavens, my life is renewed</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Though I fall, I am safe, for you're falling too.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You've given me purpose, I'll protect you from hurt</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I'll never admit it</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I think I'm in love</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You're there in my daydreams</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your death haunts my nightmares</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You're here when I wake</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You've never stopped watching</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When I don't know what's false</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You tell me we're real</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I'll never admit it</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I think I'm in love</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You're standing too close, And I'm addicted</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You're staring right back, and I'm not refusing</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If this is a game, I'll never blink, nor end it</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I'll never admit it</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I think I'm in love</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I tell you I need you, your smile understands</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Those three words they say, aren't as strong as your hands</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Those words aren't enough, they're said far too much</em>
</p><p>
  <em>so I'll never admit it</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I think I'm in love</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Touch me tonight, let us feel it</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Enfold me in you, your wings as my blanket</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And let me remember, what it's like to be one</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I admit it to you</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cas</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I think I'm in love</em>
</p><p>
  <em>DW</em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>You took my rotten heart and made it gold,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And my deepest secrets you now hold.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Our love is the hammer of Thor,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Only us will be able to love like we do forevermore.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Together we will bleed, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But that’s alright, because you’re here with me. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’ve loved you so long, my darling, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Why did we ever think it was a good idea to start forestalling?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We could have had so much time.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We really could have. It’s a crime.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Your cornflower eyes, which are so fair,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Contrast beautifully with your dark hair.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I love you so much, Castiel, angel of the lord,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It is you who I’ve always adored. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>DW</em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>March 2013</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cas, I… I doubt you will ever read this. To be honest, I’m kind of hoping you don’t. Because my deepest secret is here.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don’t want to admit it, even to myself. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You drive me goddamn crazy, Cas. Your eyes. Fuck, your eyes. I could stare at them for centuries, and never stop.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Ocean blue, sky blue, glints of sun-white.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And don’t even get me started on your hair. It’s so soft, and dark, like an ebony forest, but. Soft.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Heh, never thought you’d see Dean Winchester writing a love letter, huh? Even if it sucks. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yeah, fine, I’ll… I'll.. admit it. I’m in love with you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I love you, I love you, I love you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When did I start loving you? Hm. Hard to say.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe… Damn, you know what?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe it was when I first started to know you. Not you as the soldier, but the you who changed. The Cas who likes bees, the Cas who adores blueberries, the Cas who has a really, really good smile. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don’t get to see that smile enough, and it's my fault, Cas. It’s my fault.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’m so fucking in love with you, Castiel, and I can’t help it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’ll never be able to tell you, cause, really. Let’s be real. You’re an ANGEL.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And look at me, I’m a fuck up. My life is a series of mistakes. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I… I couldn’t ever satisfy my father. Sometimes I think I failed bringing up Sam. </em>
</p><p><em>Why would </em>you<em> love me?</em></p><p><em>I’ve been a horrible friend to you, and I hate myself for it. I </em>hate<em> myself, Cas. </em></p><p>
  <em>But that’s the thing.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You make me not hate me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>When I’m with you, I forget all of that. I get lost in your beautiful face, and all your quirks.</em>
</p><p><em>How you never get any of my stupid jokes, how you always stand a little bit too close (even though I love it), your deep voice, the sound your wings make when you fly off, your fucking </em>trenchcoat<em>, all of it.</em></p><p>
  <em>I love all of it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We fell together, didn’t we? You, from Heaven, and me, from John. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Match made in heaven, haha. Wait. No. Bad choice of words. Half made in heaven? Because, you’re, an angel, you know what I’m just gonna shut up.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I was the one to fall in love with you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>This letter holds my deepest feelings. Like, the ultimate diary, but only a few pages and that’s it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But I’ll keep it with me, no matter where I go, so I can always know this exists. No matter what hunt, what shitty motel, I’ll keep this. Through all the years that may or may not happen.</em>
</p><p><em>I know I’m rambling but I need to get this all out. I need some</em>thing<em> to know I love you, even if it’s not any</em>one<em>.</em></p><p>
  <em>I love you, Castiel.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Forever yours,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>DW</em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p><em>“Oh my god</em>,’ Charlie murmurs. “Sam <em>has</em> to see this.”</p><p>She stops.</p><p>No, this is private.</p><p>Sam said Dean and Cas were in their room, right?</p><p>Charlie gathers the crumpled pages in her hands and steps quietly out of the bedroom, attempting to not make any noise. </p><p>At Dean’s door, she takes a deep breath. <em>What if Dean gets mad at me for snooping? But, they’re a couple now,</em> Charlie reminds herself. <em>Hopefully… Dean will find them first.</em></p><p>She winces as the papers shuffle noisily under the door. Red hair flying, she speeds back to her room.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>----------------------------------------------------</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>When Cas wakes, it’s slowly.</p><p>It’s warm. It’s safe. It’s loving.</p><p>It’s <em>Dean</em>.</p><p>Cas had been waking up like this for close to five weeks now, but it’s still such a welcome surprise every morning.</p><p>He stays there for a few minutes, relishing in the smell of Dean’s soft, strawberry-scented hair.</p><p><em>Bathroom</em>.</p><p>Cas groans quietly as he eases out from under Dean’s arm, and pads towards the door. But before he can turn the handle, his foot makes contact with a flat, crunchy, surface. His head shoots down to see what it is.</p><p>
  <em>Papers?</em>
</p><p>Forgetting all about nature’s call, Cas bends down to pick the pages up. They’re at least several years old, some older than others, but all of them are creased and worn in a way that suggests constant revisits and readings, and one of the notes has been crumpled to such a degree Cas wonders if it had been rescued from the garbage and re-flattened.</p><p>It only takes a few minutes to read all of them. </p><p>He reads them again. A third time. Tears course silently down his cheeks, and he tries to stifle the clenching sobs, but it’s too much, <em>it’s too much—</em></p><p>There's a shuffling of blankets. A low murmur. “<em>Cas</em>? What’re you doin’ over there?”</p><p>“I…” Cas croaks.</p><p>Dean slides out of bed, face tense. “Cas? What’s wrong? Are you crying?” He’s at his bondmate’s side in seconds, a warm hand on Cas’s shoulder.</p><p>“Is this true?” Blue eyes drag to green ones. “Have you really loved me all this time?” </p><p>“What—” Dean inhales sharply, noticing for the first time the small pile of papers in Cas’s lap. He breathes out a soft ‘<em>oh’ </em>of surprise, and without speaking a word, joins Cas on the floor. </p><p>He is too quiet. Cas can feel the chilled wooden door through his thin t-shirt—Dean’s, of course—and he pulls in a breath, but it’s not enough, and he can’t breathe in this stifling silence. <em>Say something, anything—</em></p><p>“-Dean I’m sorry they were just here, under the door and—”</p><p>“No- no Cas, don’t be sorry.” Dean’s voice is gruff, but Cas can’t tell if it’s due to the effects of morning or emotion. “I- I was going to—” he clears his throat, seemingly rethinking his words, then tucking both legs in, Dean shifts around on the floor to face Cas. </p><p>This isn’t the first time they’ve had a deep conversation, but Cas knows how difficult it is, even still, for Dean to open up. No amount of time will ever burn away the skeletons in each of their closets. But at least now, those skeletons are no longer secrets. </p><p>Cas doesn’t speak. He’s learned by now it’s best to give Dean time to think. </p><p>
  <em>Perhaps this is a skeleton Dean didn’t want me to know about. Perhaps—</em>
</p><p>But then he feels warm fingertips trace up nis neck, a warm palm presses lovingly against his cheek, and when Cas takes a shaking breath, this time, it’s enough.</p><p>“I’m glad you found these,” Dean whispers fiercely, cupping his bondmate’s face with both hands. “Cas, sunshine, of course I have. I’ve always loved you. Always.” </p><p>Leaning in, Dean presses a kiss to his angel’s lips, and Cas grabs hold of Dean’s wrist. Their noses bump, but neither of them notice. </p><p>Whispers echo in Cas’s ear, taunting him to realize his regrets, to think about what these notes mean. That Dean was in love all along, just as much as he had been, and how many years they could have had, if only—but he tries not to listen. This moment, intimate and quiet… he feels suddenly so desperately in love, and it is all at once everything and not enough. </p><p>
  <em>My best mistake was falling for you, Dean Winchester. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>My worst mistake was thinking you hadn’t fallen for me as well. </em>
</p><p>Dean takes a sharp intake of breath, and his next words come out so fast the former angel almost misses it.</p><p> “Cas, will you marry me?” </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>OUR SPECIAL SPOTIFY PLAYLIST<br/>SPECIFICALLY FOR THIS FIC!!!!</p><p>made by Blu and I, for you guys to cry over. &lt;3</p><p>https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0Ks0yceaheHi2DeADH1YZV?si=SDUta5OATjWzOrGzYvaIiw&amp;utm_source=copy-link</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. To Build a Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Last chapter: much healing, Charlie found Dean's poems and letters, which she shoved under their door. Cas read them. Dean proposed to Cas. No reply as of yet...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hiiii blu here!!<br/>LONG chapter!!! technically its the last of the whole story, woah ik!!, but we have an epilogue soon so yeah &lt;3<br/>also, there's a certain salad mentioned that charlie fucking cyberbullied me on &gt;:( it was a salad i made a few days ago and its super fucking good so lmk if u want the recipe&lt;3<br/>anyway, as always, we love your comments sm&lt;3&lt;3&lt;3<br/>thank you!!<br/>-blu</p><p>WHAT'S UP BITCHES.<br/>so... yeah. Um. It's been forever, I know. This chapter will be worth it though!! (it's 10k words ahah kinda got longer than we thought it would!)<br/>I want to commemorate this chapter to the events of March 16th 2021: the day Misha Collins said 'Still Beautiful, Still Dean Winchester' as Castiel. Misha: Thank you. So much. And thank you to everyone who pooled together the money for the cameo request. I will forever remember yesterday.</p><p>and ALSO: yes, the salad is in fact, Blu's creation. They are a very talented and creative cook, and I only tease them about this salad because... well you'll see. But seriously: Blu, I tease ya because you're absolutely the best person ever, and I love every conversation we have. So thank you for making me laugh. I promise the next concoction you send to me will receive less teasing.... maybe. depends on what you make &lt;3</p><p>IMPORTANT: part of this section is based on a twitter post I saw a while back. I'm posting the link here, to give the author full credit.<br/>https://twitter.com/stiIIbeautiful</p><p>PLEASE LEAVE YOUR COMMENTS AND JIBBERISH DOWN BELOW, because you have no idea how excited it makes Blu and I to read them all &lt;3 &lt;3<br/>You guys are amazing, seriously. </p><p>Thank you for your incredibly thoughtful comments, and motivation, and inspiration, and for giving us smiles, laughter, and sometimes tears. (in my case aha)</p><p>As the fic is almost over, (god it makes me sad to think about) I want to particularly thank onloveslightwings2266, LovelyOtt98 and WantstoFlyAfraidToFall<br/>Your comments and messages.... you all mean more to us than I can describe. Thank you.</p><p>NOW ENJOY SOME DAMN FLUFF. &lt;3<br/>-Charlie</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Wise men say only fools rush in.</em>
</p><p>Dean had heard that line once, in a song. </p><p>He’d always been a reckless fool, but only because he’d never truly given a damn about his own well being. Save lives, and if you go out swinging, well… one less fuck-up living in this already messed up world.</p><p>Yes, he’d always been reckless. No doubt about it. </p><p>But this…. This moment invites a new type of recklessness entirely.</p><p>
  <em>Reckless not because I have nothing to live for— but because I am so tired of letting everything slip through my fingers, and after so many years of being reckless for all the bad reasons…. </em>
</p><p>Dean feels the warmth of Cas’s solid arm pressed against his own as they sit backs against the door, and his lips curve upward in a soft smile. </p><p>
  <em>...dammit, I am finally ready to be reckless in the name of happiness. </em>
</p><p>The old Dean would have been furious, humiliated, when Cas found his private letters. But after everything they’d been through….</p><p>It’s a good feeling. To love someone so much you become utterly and uncaringly reckless in the divulgence of your own deepest secrets. </p><p>To hand them out without regret, to feel the non-necessity of lies, to know that for this person, you would reveal anything, would tell them <em>anything, </em>because they already know your secrets. And they know when you’re lying too. </p><p>Shifting positions so they sit face to face, Dean cups his hand lovingly around his bondmate’s cheek, and he’s never felt this insanely happy, and he’s never felt this good. He presses his forehead to Cas’s, needing to be closer. </p><p>“I’m glad you found these,” Dean whispers. And it’s true. </p><p>“Cas, sunshine, of <em>course</em> I have. I’ve always loved you. Always.” And it’s true.</p><p>Dean presses a kiss to his angel’s lips, and his heart flutters furiously as he feels Cas grab hold of his wrist. Shaking breaths mingle in the small space between them, and it’s far too much distance, far too much air.</p><p>Dean takes a sharp breath. A pounding heartbeat of a second passes, and the words blurt out suddenly, reckless, and rushed, and— </p><p>“Cas, will you marry me?”</p><p>—and then the panic sets in, and along with it, the realization that he may be a reckless fool after all. </p><p>
  <em>(—Ohmygod Jesus fuck what did I just fucking do? Did I seriously just ask Cas to marry me? Is that a thing that I just did?—) </em>
</p><p>Cas’s blue eyes are widened to full capacity, and the silence stretches on, the adrenaline taking hold, and Dean can feel his own hands shaking, and it’s stupid, it’s <em>stupid—</em></p><p>
  <em>—what a stupid thing to say, Cas is an angel, or he was, and he probably doesn’t even want to do marriage because what’s the point if we’re already bondmates, and compared to THAT, marriage sounds like nothing and oh fuck just say SOMETHING—</em>
</p><p>There are tears in Cas’s eyes, and Dean can’t take it any longer. “<em>Cas, </em>man, <em>say </em>something, I can’t—”</p><p><em>“Dean.” </em>A whisper. “My coat—” He shifts his gaze to the beige trenchcoat draped over the armchair, and Dean tentatively pads over to pick it up, then looks questioningly at Cas.</p><p>“Check the—” Cas clears his throat, and his voice becomes stronger. “Check the inside pocket.”</p><p>
  <em>What...</em>
</p><p>Dean tucks his hand inside the pocket, but there’s only the photograph of him and Sam. He frowns, but Cas interrupts, his voice patient. “The <em>other </em>pocket, Dean.”</p><p><em>Oh god— </em>Dean’s heart stops. The small object is fairly familiar. Cold, and solid in its metallic weight. Circular. He closes his eyes, trying to breathe, then pulls the ring out of the pocket.</p><p><em>It’s beautiful, </em>is his first thought. Silver, with enochian sigils carved into the outside. Simple. Perfect. And then Dean notices a slight blue glow lingering inside each glyph that looks suspiciously similar to an angel’s grace.</p><p>“-Cas?” Dean looks up from the ring sitting in his palm, but Cas gestures back at the coat. </p><p>“There’s something else. It will explain.”</p><p>His fingers brush against a worn slip of paper. <em>A note? </em>Taking a breath, Dean begins to read the familiar handwriting.</p><p>
  <em>Hello, Dean.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If you are reading this, then I suppose I've told you everything. And If I told you everything… That means I am gone.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So this is for you, and if I said all I meant to, then you know what this gift means. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>You were the gift I never expected. As you once told me, gifts are meant to be kept. I wish we could have lasted, friends or otherwise. I wish I didn’t have to do this to you, because I know what this will put you through. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know the guilt you feel for things which are not your fault. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>This ring is a gift, but so is your life. So keep it. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yours forever truly,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Castiel</em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>When Dean finishes reading, Cas has moved from his position on the floor, and now stands only inches away, one hand outstretched. </p><p>“Dean- the ring.”</p><p>Shaking, Dean swallows back the strangled words he knows he won’t be able to say anyway, and places the smooth silver ring in Cas’s open palm. The sigils flare slightly, as if recognizing their previous source.</p><p>“Dean, I know what you’re thinking. And this is just as important to me as it is to you.” Cas’s blue eyes shine in the low light, his voice soft.</p><p>“But I know, I know— there are still so many things between us. Worries. Doubts.” Cas bites his lip, and lifts a finger to gently wipe away Dean’s tears. </p><p>“Being human- it seems so new to me, somehow. And there are times I have this strange realization that this is how it will be- no powers, no wings, and—” Cas chokes back a strangled breath. </p><p>“—I am always terrified there will come a day when you will get hurt and I won’t be able to save you anymore, like I once could.”</p><p>“But Dean…”</p><p><em>I will never get tired of that smile,</em> Dean thinks.</p><p>“I realize now. That’s what being human <em>is. </em>It’s temporary and confusing and there seems to be nothing but chaos— but not all bad comes from it.”</p><p>Holding a hand to Dean’s shoulder, Cas steps closer until their chests are only inches away. </p><p>“Art. Hope. Dreams. ...<em>Love.” </em> He whispers the last word into Dean’s ear, lingering just for a moment before pulling back, and Dean finds himself incapable of forming a sentence. </p><p>“-so you see. I know a lot about being human. And that is how—” Cas steps a bit further away, shrugging on his trenchcoat. “—I know—” </p><p>Dean watches, lips parting in surprise as Castiel sinks to the floor on one knee, and holds out the ring, an almost smug smile sitting on the once-angel’s face.</p><p>“—that <em>you, </em>Dean Winchester, are terrible at proposals.”</p><p><em>The dork even put on his stupid trench coat, </em>Dean grins.</p><p>
  <em>And I fucking love it.</em>
</p><p>Then he remembers he’s supposed to be offended. It’s awfully hard to be offended though, since Cas is completely right.</p><p>
  <em>Seeing him at this angle doesn’t help matters either. </em>
</p><p>Then Cas speaks, and all amusement drains from the moment. </p><p>“Dean.” He swallows. The room is so quiet, Dean can hear every breath. But there’s no reason to rush. </p><p>It’s such a wonderfully welcome feeling. To know the answer before the question is even finished, because you have never been more sure of anything in your life. </p><p>Cas continues, the ends of his trenchcoat puddled on the floor, the blue sheen of the ring’s glow reflected in the once-angel’s eyes. </p><p>“I know you want to hear my answer before I ask for yours. Considering the situation we are in, I think you can readily guess my intentions, and my reply,” Cas smiles. </p><p>“So yes. Of course. Always and continually yes. Your proposal was rather awful—” Dean breathes out a quiet laugh, “but- just to be with you, I'd agree to anything. I wasn’t lying when I said you were my everything.”</p><p>“Because, Dean, I need you to understand… that you are my reason, and— I love you more than you’ll ever wrap your head around. So… will you marry me?”</p><p><em>Well fuck, </em>Dean swallows. <em>That’s kind of impossible to beat. </em></p><p>But he doesn’t need to beat it. He just needs to say yes. And it is the easiest word he’s ever spoken.</p><p>Gentle hands twist the ring onto Dean’s finger, and he feels the dull hum of the Cas’s grace pulse through his hand. His heart swells just looking at it.</p><p>Feeling strangely lightheaded, Dean pulls his trenchcoated angel in for a kiss. He notices Cas grinning against his mouth, and pulls back. “What?”</p><p>“I just—” Cas laughs. “I can’t believe how much better my proposal was.”</p><p>“Oh shut your face,” Dean grumbles, but Cas only bumps his head into Dean’s shoulder, laughter eventually fading into soft breaths.</p><p><em>I’m home, </em>Dean thinks, rocking slowly in the quiet room, Cas curled in his arms.</p><p>
  <em>Soft. warm. Lovely. Delicate rough broken beautiful—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Home. </em>
</p><p>The thoughts resound stronger and and stronger, fading with the beat of his slowing heart and everything is somehow both different, and exactly the same, and it is solid, and pure and peaceful.</p><p><em>So this is love, </em>the righteous man thinks.</p><p>Cas sighs into Dean’s neck, breathing in the familiar scents. He can hear Dean’s heartbeat beneath warm skin, and the fallen angel knows:</p><p>….<em>so this is home.</em></p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------------</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>I think the people who are most in love, are also the people most likely to screw things up for themselves.</em>
</p><p>It had only been a few days since the proposal, and Dean had already committed a large portion of his mental energy towards the act of self sabotage.</p><p>He never knew he could be this <em>needy.</em></p><p>The only time his anxiety fades is when Cas is right next to him. One touch from his fiancee, and Dean's mind settles into peace.</p><p><em>No need to worry, </em>Cas's hands say.</p><p><em>You're perfect just the way you are, </em>Cas's lips whisper.</p><p><em>This is real, we can have this, </em>Cas's heartbeat hums, and Dean listens, he does.</p><p>But with beauty comes the inseparable anxiety, the knowledge that someday, you might lose the beauty, might fall out of its orbit: you might fuck up so badly, that beautiful thing won't be yours to look at anymore.</p><p>With every good thing comes the terrible fear that someday you might learn to live without it.</p><p>
  <em>Sure, Cas fell in love with me. But what if I'm not enough to keep him from falling OUT of love?</em>
</p><p>And so it went. One moment, Cas would be by his side and everything would be okay, and the next, Cas was out getting food, or taking a shower, or reading in the library and Dean would become so drenched in anxiety that his mind refused to focus on anything else.</p><p>
  <em>What if I said something? What if I did something wrong? Why isn't he right here? What if he doesn't need me right now as much as I need him?</em>
</p><p>And then Jody found a case.</p><p>Their first one since the California vamp fiasco—which, Dean later learned, had been taken care of by Sam and Charlie while 'you lovebirds were passed out in the hospital getting your beauty sleep.' Or so Charlie had said.</p><p>In all honesty, Dean had no desire to work a case. For the first time, he didn't need a distraction. So when Sam offered to take the case alone with Jody, Dean didn't argue. Much.</p><p>Luckily, both he and Cas had valid excuses for taking the bench. Impalement doesn't exactly heal quickly, and Cas was still getting used to being human.</p><p>So Dean had been spending his weeks following Sam's orders—'<em>You have to stretch, Dean, or the wound will become stiff'</em>— and teaching newly mojo-less Cas how to fight properly.</p><p>They'd told Sam about their engagement just before he'd left to meet up with Jody, and it had gone just about as Dean had expected. Hugs and teasing all around.</p><p>But there'd been something else, too. A kind of… <em>sadness </em>in Sam's eyes even as the happy words of congratulation left his mouth, and Dean had a pretty good guess as to the reason for his brother's pain.</p><p>It seemed love was happening to everyone but Sam. Charlie had found another hunter named Stevie on her evil-toy case. Claire had visited a week after they returned from the hospital, her sarcasm and snark only barely softened by the presence of her now-girlfriend, Kaia.</p><p>Change was everywhere. And Sam was trying so hard to be happy for everyone, Dean could tell. But the strain was beginning to take its toll, and when Jody called about a case, Dean recognized the all-too-ready eagerness in Sam's answer: this case was a distraction that Sam needed desperately.</p><p>"You'll find someone, Sammy," Dean had said as he'd helped pack the car. "Some badass person with really<em>, really </em>long hair who will be way too good for you."</p><p>Sam had laughed at that, and Dean mimed a pair of scissors. "Seriously though. Your hair's getting pretty long, dude. Better hope whoever she is likes long hair cause otherwise she might just cut it off while you sleep."</p><p>Rolling his eyes, Sam punched Dean in the arm, and climbed into the front seat. "Jerk."</p><p>"Bitch." Dean slapped a hand on Baby's black roof. "Someday, Sammy."</p><p>Sam nodded, swallowing back a forced smile. "Someday."</p><p>Apparently, 'someday' was closer than anyone had expected, because three days into the hunt, Sam called. He'd met someone. He hadn't had much time to explain, but Dean was able to learn three things before Sam hung up.</p><p>Her name was Eileen Leahy.</p><p>She was, in fact, very much a badass.</p><p>And Sam was in love with her.</p><p>Perhaps for most people, three days into knowing someone isn't quite long enough to warrant love. But for hunters, whose every day could be their last: three days was more than enough.</p><p>Dean just hoped nothing happened to her. Sam tended to be rather deadly to the women he dated, all jokes aside.</p><p>So when Sam arrives early back at the bunker alone, Dean is nervous, to say the least.</p><p>"Where's uh— where's Eileen? She's okay right?"</p><p>Sam sets his bags down on the map table, and turns around. His eyes glow with an energy and light Dean hasn't seen in a while.</p><p>
  <em>Do I look that way when I talk about Cas?</em>
</p><p>"She's fine. She'll visit in a day or two," Sam assures him, and sighing, settles down into a seat. "She's beautiful Dean, and you should see her with a blade," Sam laughs, remembering. "Almost stabbed me when we first met— she thought <em>I </em>was the banshee, and then…"</p><p>Dean tries to listen to the story, he really does, especially with Sam being so excited. But something nags at him, something Sam had said, and he can't figure it out until Cas walks into the map room, his hair still mussed from sleep.</p><p><em>He's so beautiful, </em>Dean thinks. But he can't say it. Not out loud. Not like Sam could.</p><p>
  <em>Why? Why can't I just say it out loud?</em>
</p><p>He tries again, but feels a sharpness in his throat, and his heart pounds. The words won't come out. Cas blinks over at him, a soft smile, but Dean can only swallow.</p><p>
  <em>—dammit his eyes, so blue, so beautiful— just say it, just say 'Cas, you're beautiful,' it's not hard, Cas has said it to me like a hundred times already, I can do this—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Why is it so difficult to give honest compliments? Why is it so difficult to give love?</em>
</p><p>"Cas- you—"</p><p>Dean freezes as Cas looks up from stirring his coffee, swiping the spoon along his tongue and raising an eyebrow at Dean's stupefied expression.</p><p>"-Dean? Are you… alright?"</p><p>"Uh-" Dean bites his lip and tries to put together a sentence.</p><p>
  <em>But no matter what I say, it won't even come close to Cas's words. How can I even compete with the things he says? God, the things he says….</em>
</p><p>Cas's compliments are poetry, and Dean's… well, the few times he's tried, it usually comes out sounding like a cheap pick-up line, so cheesy even Dean can feel his brain cringe at the memories.</p><p>Of course, Cas seems to enjoy the lines regardless, perhaps because he's never heard a pick-up line in his life, but Dean wishes he could say something better.</p><p>
  <em>How come the only times I can speak my thoughts are when one of us is dying or in tears?</em>
</p><p>Dean bounces his knee up and down. He can feel Cas squinting at him.</p><p>"Dean? What—"</p><p>"It's okay, Cas—" Dean interrupts with a forced smile. "I'm okay. Just— thinking."</p><p>
  <em>I need to leave or I'm just going to spew another stupid pick up line.</em>
</p><p>Dean stands up quickly from his chair. Too quickly. Cas flinches upward in his own seat, eyes wide and worried. "<em>Dean-"</em></p><p>"Sorry, Cas- uh," Dean shifts, then awkwardly leans forward and plants a lingering kiss on Cas's cheek. "You want more coffee?"</p><p>Without waiting for an answer, Dean snatches the blue mug and walks quickly towards the kitchen, not looking back.</p><p><em>'Humans need to work on their compliment skills'— </em>that's what Cas had said once. Easy for him to say, since compliments seemed to be one of his natural abilities.</p><p>Cas has always been so open about these things, and sometimes, Dean wishes he wouldn't be, because it makes him realize just how many walls are still standing in his own mind, and how much effort it takes just to be honest about the littlest thing.</p><p>There are times when Dean wonders if he'll ever get used to it: the feeling of being looked at as if he's something beautiful, as if even the worst and ugliest parts of himself are worthy of admiration.</p><p>
  <em>No one has ever looked at me like Cas does.</em>
</p><p>Dean takes a breath and leans against the kitchen counter, tapping his fingers on the surface at an agitated pace.</p><p>
  <em>And Cas's compliments are never cheap, either.</em>
</p><p>Dean would know. He's had his fair share of cheap compliments.</p><p>For one thing, Cas never calls him 'pretty.'</p><p>Dean has always hated being called pretty.</p><p>It reminds him of his father, who would mutter comments equating his pretty face to a variety of gay slurs. So Dean had flirted with every girl he could find. He had shoved down those <em>feelings.</em></p><p>
  <em>Cause maybe if Dad thought I was straight, maybe he'd start thinking I was valuable too.</em>
</p><p>It reminds him of other hunters, his dad's buddies, who would say he was too pretty to be good at his job.</p><p>
  <em>'Can't hunt with a pretty-boy face like that, can ya? Always worried you might break your pretty nose, eh boy?'</em>
</p><p>Dean grits his teeth at the memories, his stomach clenching.</p><p>
  <em>Not good at my job. Ha.</em>
</p><p>He breathes a heavy, bitter breath. <em>I was more than good at it. And I became the best of the best. And look what that did to me. Pretty faces don't do great things. The people behind the faces; they're the ones who do greatness.</em></p><p>It reminds him of his high school teachers, who would tell him that being pretty couldn't get him good grades. Couldn't get him into college. As if going to college was ever an option for Dean Winchester.</p><p>And all they saw was the bad-boy flirt, who skipped classes because he was 'too cool for school.' Not because his dad beat him so badly the bruises went far beyond the cover of his clothes.</p><p>
  <em>Not so pretty then, was I, Dad? Being pretty didn't get me good grades, and it didn't save me from your fists either.</em>
</p><p>It reminds him of the monsters, who would get far too close for comfort and tell him things he desperately wishes he could forget.</p><p>How they'd like to have his pretty face mounted on their wall.</p><p>How they'd like to wear his pretty skin and make him do ugly things.</p><p>How they'd like to tear into every crevice of his pretty body, and pour his pretty blood on the ground, and watch his pretty green eyes go blank.</p><p>And worst of all, it reminds him of the disgusting men in greasy truck stop bathrooms.</p><p>So many men. And so many whispers. They had to whisper, after all. Couldn't be caught in the act, even if they were paying.</p><p>Dean can still hear their words when he closes his eyes and remembers.</p><p><em>'You're such a pretty boy,' </em>they'd hiss as Dean Winchester sank to his knees on a grimy tiled floor, all for an extra twenty bucks because John had been gone too long and Sam needed to eat.</p><p>They liked his pretty mouth. The way his pretty eyes looked up at them.</p><p>But Dean had never felt more ugly than when they called him pretty.</p><p>And he sure didn't feel pretty when he snuck back to the motel room afterwards, as if nothing had happened. He'd put the food in the fridge. He'd say hello to Sam.</p><p>But he wouldn't touch his brother, not for days after.</p><p>Even though he rubbed his skin raw in the shower, even though he scrubbed his lips so hard they bled, even though he vomited in the motel bathroom to escape the taste, to escape the memory, the memory that sure as hell wasn't pretty.</p><p>And maybe it's just coincidence, or maybe it's because the angel knows of these memories. But Castiel never calls him pretty.</p><p>And ever since the empty, Cas has been saying these <em>things, </em>these wonderful things that Dean never thought he'd hear from anyone.</p><p><em>'You're beautiful,'</em> Cas told him, just last week.</p><p>
  <em>'Handsome.'</em>
</p><p>
  <em>'Strong.'</em>
</p><p>Poetic words too, that Dean can hardly believe, but he can only be glad that the word 'pretty' never leaves Cas's mouth.</p><p><em>'I'd rather count the freckles on your body than the stars in the sky,' </em>Cas told him one night before they went to sleep.</p><p><em>'I could search to the furthest reaches of the universe and never find anything more beautiful than you,' </em>Cas whispered to him one morning. And Dean had never felt so awake.</p><p>Because once again, there was that word. <em>Beautiful. </em>Not pretty. <em>Beautiful.</em></p><p>And he'd lain there in bed for a while, Cas's arm hooked over his side, and wondered how two words could be so similar and yet so very, very different.</p><p>Maybe it was because Cas wasn't simply referring to the way Dean looks on the outside, but rather something much deeper, something much more honest.</p><p>Yes, Dean hates being called pretty.</p><p>So Castiel calls him beautiful.</p><p>And when he says that one word…. It's as if nothing good could ever happen again, and Dean would still be drunk on happiness. But trying to say them back….</p><p>
  <em>So- what, I can write romantic letters and poetry but I can't tell the guy I love that his eyes are beautiful without cringing? How does that make any sense?</em>
</p><p>Maybe it's becausethe two words are so similar.</p><p>A part of himself wonders if Cas will ever get tired of being the only one dishing out compliments and adoring statements. If maybe one day, Cas will resent him for never doing more.</p><p>So for weeks, Dean has tried. But his words still come out shallow and childish, and there are times he thinks he could hold demon smoke better than he could hold an honest conversation.</p><p>"Screw it,<em>" </em>Dean mutters, and reaches for his cellphone. He dials the number. She picks up immediately.</p><p>"Jody, hey."</p><p>"Dean!" Jody sounds genuinely delighted, and Dean can't help a small smile. "How's that angel of yours doing?"</p><p>"He's- he's fine- amazing, actually. Listen, Jody- that's sort of what I'm calling about."</p><p>"Uh-huh." There's that signature Jody Mills mom-tone again. "Something's definitely up. Spill."</p><p>Taking a breath, Dean sneaks a glance at the doorway. He doesn't hear footsteps. "I- I have this problem. I can't- Cas is so good at being, well, <em>Cas, </em>and I just can't get the words out, naturally, I mean, I can <em>write </em>them but—"</p><p>"Dean," Jody interrupts, amused. "As much as your adorable rambling amuses me, I can't help ya if I don't understand what the hell you're getting at."</p><p>"I can't give Cas compliments," Dean blurts out.</p><p>“Mhm."</p><p>"Every time I try, it's like- it just sounds stupid."</p><p>"Does Cas think they sound stupid?"</p><p>"I don't know. I've never asked. It's just… when <em>he </em>says those things- he makes me feel how I want to make <em>him </em>feel, and I just- can't."</p><p>"Hmm. Well, first of all Dean Winchester, stop telling yourself you sound stupid when you give the guy a compliment. That's helping nobody.</p><p>"Second of all, you're trying to be something you're not. So stop. Cas is an eloquent guy. He's going to speak his thoughts, because that's what he's used to doing. You, not so much."</p><p>Dean takes a breath, considering. "But- I can write it all out, I mean, I have—"</p><p>"Dean you've always been one for actions. Everyone shows their love in different ways. You should be glad you're different from Cas, otherwise the two of you would just be spouting compliments at each other all day."</p><p>Dean smiles a bit at the image. "But I don't know—"</p><p>"Just think about what you want to do, Dean. When you think of Cas, how would you want to show him love?"</p><p>"I—"</p><p>"No, don't answer me. I'm not the one who needs to know. Just think about it. You'll figure it out."</p><p>"I wouldn't be so sure about that," Dean grumbles into the phone, and Jody snorts.</p><p>"You're Dean frickin’ Winchester. You got this. Cas loves you, and you love him. Now I gotta go because I think I see Claire and Kaia bringing in another vamp body and I <em>don't </em>want them dragging it into the garage for 'inspection' like they did last time."</p><p>The call ends with a static click, and Dean is left standing in the kitchen, cell phone in hand.</p><p>
  <em>('When you think of Cas, how would you want to show him love?’)</em>
</p><p><em>I'd want to give him everything he's ever wanted. </em>That much is obvious. And far, far too broad a selection.</p><p>
  <em>Or is it?</em>
</p><p>There's really only two things Cas has ever wanted. And one of them is still Dean's to give. He only hopes Cas likes the idea.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>--------------------------------------------------------</p><p> When Dean walks back into the map room, Cas is still sitting at the table, stirring his coffee and singing quietly. His voice is rough, and deep, and Dean recognizes the lyrics immediately.</p><p>
  <em>"-yes there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run there's still time to change the road you're on…"</em>
</p><p>"Would it be too soon to say you sing like an angel?" Dean jokes, stepping fully into the room, and Cas turns around with surprise.</p><p>"Dean, I- I didn't know you were there."</p><p>
  <em>Is he- embarrassed? Oh hell no.</em>
</p><p>"Hey. No embarrassment over singing Zeppelin. I do it all the time." Dean grins, and pulls Cas up from the chair, folding one hand into his, and sliding the other around his angel's waist. Cas seems taken aback by the gesture, but doesn't resist. He laughs a quiet huff of breath into Dean's shoulder.</p><p>"-<em>your head is humming and it won't go, in case you don't know…the piper's calling you to join him," </em>Dean whispers the next lyrics into Cas's ear, and they stand there for a moment, rocking slowly to the same song that neither are truly listening to, but both can hear.</p><p>"How many Zeppelin songs do you know the lyrics to anyway?" Dean asks softly.</p><p>"All of them."</p><p>"No way." Dean unfolds himself from Cas's body and searches Cas's face for any sign of a joke. "All of them? Seriously? Dude, that's like—"</p><p>"Over a hundred songs, yes," Cas nods, looking awfully smug. "I memorized them all years ago. I suppose I was trying to- well—" he hesitates.</p><p>"You were trying to impress me?" Dean grins, suddenly feeling even more lightheaded than before.</p><p>"Yes," Cas replies simply, and that's all it takes.</p><p>Before Dean really thinks about it he's curling in closer to Cas, pushing him against the map table, closer, closer—</p><p><em>Still too damn far away, </em>Dean thinks as he presses his chest flush against Cas's, their lips only centimeters apart, and still—</p><p><em>"Cas," </em>Dean whispers, and Cas's fingers curl onto Dean's chest, and now all that's left to do is catch Castiel's face in his hands and kiss him, and so Dean does.</p><p>Cas's hand slides down Dean's chest, almost like he's forgotten it exists, and he makes a very small noise in the back of his throat that leaves Dean weak kneed and dizzy.</p><p>Cas's lips are slightly chapped, but they taste like coffee and sugar and warmth, and it's suddenly Dean's new favorite flavor. </p><p>Just like last time's chocolate taste was his favorite flavor. And the time before that: minty fresh toothpaste. And whiskey, the time before that. And on and on and on, Dean's lost count of all the flavors Castiel's mouth has given him, but each one feels like the first time he’s ever truly tasted such a flavor.</p><p><em>But this time, this is the best— </em>Dean thinks giddily. Even though he knows he'll say it again.</p><p>Dean tilts his head and deepens the kiss, wetting Cas's bottom lip with his tongue. It doesn't take much to make his newly-humanized angel fall apart, but for Dean, it's never too soon to hear—</p><p>Cas parts his lips and sighs so softly, so relaxed, and it's the most beautiful thing Dean has ever heard, and he can't remember suddenly what he'd been thinking about this morning, he can't remember what he'd come to ask Cas about, he can't remember how to breathe.</p><p>
  <em>You know you've found the right person when they make you forget how to breathe… and you don't want to remember. Because that feeling, of loving someone so much, your chest tightens and aches and you can't think and you can't remember how to exist without their hands entwined in yours…. In a moment like that, who the hell cares about oxygen?</em>
</p><p>And <em>oh, </em>there's the shiver traveling down his spine and <em>oh </em>the building heat beneath his skin, and <em>oh </em>Cas's smile beneath his lips, and Cas's hair beneath his fingers and <em>oh, </em>the ruthless, insatiable yearning beneath his chest, to hear Cas make those sounds again, to lick them out of his angel's mouth, to make it so good that Cas can't remember the empty, or the scars, or the coldness of the world. </p><p>So good that Cas will know just how much Dean wants to love him, endlessly, and boundless.</p><p>It always starts out like this. And then Cas somehow learns to breathe again, and somehow Dean is the one pinned against the table, and Cas's hands are coming forward to grip Dean's hips and yank him in closer, and that's all it takes to fuck up Dean's mind good and proper, because now he's the one forgetting how to use his hands. Hell, he’s forgotten his own name.</p><p>Eventually, the kisses turn softer, gentle and careful, and Dean's mind softens with them, falling into ease. His fingers tangle themselves in the soft locks at the nape of Cas's neck, and as he combs each strand into place, he feels his own thoughts smoothing out too, his own tension, and worries, suddenly all seem so <em>insignificant. </em>Their importance unravels little by little, and all that matters is right here in front of him, and he feels safe, and he feels <em>loved.</em></p><p>When the last kiss eventually breaks, Cas doesn't step back. Their foreheads press together, the tips of their noses brushing, hot breaths falling onto each other's lips, and Dean huffs out a weak laugh. "Well, that was unexpected."</p><p>"But good?"</p><p>"<em>Oh </em>yeah. Where'd you learn to kiss like that anyway?"</p><p>Dean can feel Cas's amused smile and almost knows what his angel is going to say before the words are spoken.</p><p>"I learned it from the pizza man," Cas quotes, and Dean bites back a grin.</p><p>"Am I the pizza man, Cas?"</p><p>A laugh. "Yes, Dean. Yes, you are."</p><p> “Hey… Cas-” Dean shifts in his position, so he can see his angel’s face fully. “I’ve been thinking, and—”</p><p>“Wonders never cease,” Cas nods, quoting himself again.</p><p>“Ha-<em>ha. </em>No but really. What if- what if we moved?” Dean speaks quickly, and Cas’s blue eyes squint, dark head tilted. </p><p>“You know, get ourselves a real house. A home.” </p><p>“My home is wherever you are, Dean—”</p><p><em>Oh god here we go again, </em>Dean thinks and it’s almost too much, on top of the very recent makeout session. <em>How does he just spew out perfect lines like that—</em></p><p>“—but don’t you enjoy the bunker?”</p><p>Dean shrugs. “ I mean- I guess. There’s just… a lot of <em>bad </em>memories here too, y’know? Good ones- but also. A lot of bad. And I—”</p><p>Cas stops him with another kiss, and Dean hums into it before realizing he hadn’t finished what he’d been saying. Not that it matters.. Not that anything currently matters besides this, right here, Cas’s—</p><p>“Oh-” Sam groans, pinching a hand to his forehead, apparently having just walked through the doorway. “Guys come on, it’s way too early in the morning to see this.”</p><p>Dean gives Sam a very rude hand gesture behind Cas's back, and deepens the kiss, his eyes closed. Sam snorts and rolls his eyes at the giddy smile on both of their faces as they finally pull away.</p><p>"So how's Eileen?" Dean asks, leaning casually against the table with Cas pressed into his side. He tries to keep the goofy grin off his face, and fails miserably. For once, Sam doesn't make a teasing remark, which Dean supposes is due to the appearance of a certain name.</p><p><em>So.. </em>Dean smirks. <em>Bring up Eileen, and Sam turns into one giant distracted moose. Good to know.</em></p><p>To his credit, Sam does his best to look confused. "I wasn't talking to- Eileen, I was… unpacking."</p><p>Dean raises an eyebrow at Cas, who bites back his own grin. It feels nice to be the one doing the teasing for once, especially with Cas to join in the fun.</p><p>"<em>Suuuure</em>," Dean agrees, giving Sam a mock-serious nod. "I bet there was a lot of unpacking being done over the past few days."</p><p>Sam chokes on his coffee, and decides to change the subject.</p><p>"um- so anyway- you guys talking about moving?"</p><p>"No," Dean says just as Cas answers with a yes.</p><p>
  <em>Awkward.</em>
</p><p>Clearing his throat, Dean decides to go the honest route. It'll come out sooner or later. Might as well get it over with. "Um- yeah. We are actually."</p><p>Surprisingly, Sam only shrugs, as if he'd already considered the idea. "Well, just let me know if you decide to get a B&amp;B in Vermont or whatever—" his words are interrupted by a buzzing noise, and Dean could swear he sees a faint blush rising on his brother's cheeks. Probably Eileen again.</p><p>Sam gestures helplessly at the phone and then out the door. "It's a skype call— I have to get to my computer—"</p><p>Dean shakes his head in fond exasperation. "Go get her, tiger. If she's as good with a blade as you keep bragging about, I wouldn’t make her wait too long."</p><p>The room is quiet after Sam leaves, and Dean realizes suddenly that he hasn't eaten breakfast yet. "Well?" He rubs his hands together and gestures towards the kitchen. "What'll it be today, angel? Blueberries or chocolate chips?"</p><p>Cas doesn't answer. He seems to be frowning at the floor, and Dean recognizes the contemplative look. He sighs. "Dude what have I said about saving deep contemplation until <em>after </em>breakfast—"</p><p>"What if we did?"</p><p>"What?"</p><p>"Get a B&amp;B in Vermont," Cas says..</p><p>
  <em>okay, that's not what I was expecting—</em>
</p><p>"Wait- Cas, you're actually considering that? You know he was joking, right?"</p><p>Cas frowns. "I am well enough acquainted with your brother to know when he is joking, Dean."</p><p>Dean raises a skeptical eyebrow, and Cas rolls his eyes in defeat. "Alright, fine. I know when he's joking <em>most </em>of the time."</p><p>"Debatable," Dean says, enjoying his angel's ruffled indignation. He claps Cas on the back, and shoves him along towards the kitchen. "Come on. Nothing like a stack of fresh pancakes to get the conversation going."</p><p>Cas huffs. "I would argue the opposite, Dean, seeing as your primary purpose for bringing up the topic of pancakes was to detain me from <em>continuing </em>said conversation."</p><p>"Shut up."</p><p>---------------------------</p><p>As it turns out, that <em>had </em>been Dean's primary reason for suggesting to make pancakes.</p><p><em>Cas knows me too well, </em>Dean thinks, watching the dark haired angel out of the corner of his eye. He's humming again. Still Zeppelin. Dean thinks he can recognize the tune to '<em>Thank You.'</em></p><p>
  <em>Never thought Zeppelin could get any better. And then I heard Cas singing the words. </em>
</p><p>Dean can't help smiling down at the blueberry-dappled pancakes, listening to the quiet sizzling of the griddle, and the graveled, jumbled lyrics to his new favorite song.</p><p>And he imagines it. His future.</p><p>Neither of them have ever gotten a chance like this: to truly and honestly contemplate the idea of allowing themselves happiness, peace. Taking time to consider the <em>future? </em>An unfamiliar luxury at best.</p><p>A terrifying freedom, at worst.</p><p>And Dean sometimes feels as if he understands how the angels felt: when they lost their only guidance, when they fell from the only life they'd ever known.</p><p>Hunting had been Dean Winchester for as long as he could remember. Retirement had always been a joke, nothing more. He knew the truth, or what he'd<em> thought</em> was the truth. Hunters didn't get husbands. Peace. Family. Homes.</p><p>Hell, they'd be lucky to get <em>old age, </em>and when it comes to hunters, old age is regarded more as a curse than a gift.</p><p>It seems only to bring loneliness, alleviated until death by the company of amber liquid in glass bottles and a less frequent, but very welcome guest called <em>Insanity</em>.</p><p>And that's if they even <em>survived</em> the vampire hunts and the accidents and the demon possessions and— well the list could go on forever.</p><p>And Dean had believed, for so long, he'd go out bloody. He'd go out swinging. That's what his dad had said, anyway.</p><p>But now, the never-ending road to a bloody death, the promise of consistency, of purpose, the road he thought he'd die on….</p><p>That road had turned a corner.</p><p>And here, on that beautiful corner, his future. Waiting for him in all it's terrible foreignness. In all it's unknowability. And—</p><p><em>"Fuck," </em>Dean mutters, pulling out the plug to the griddle. The pancakes are far too brown around the edges. Oh well. They'd both eaten worse.</p><p>“It could be a safe haven. For passing hunters I mean. Like a rest stop.”</p><p>Dean looks up from the half-burned pancakes to see Cas staring intently at him, arms folded on the countertop in front of him. So Cas is truly serious about this. Apparently. </p><p>Dean takes a breath, and massages a hand through his hair. He knows it looks sex-level-messy at this rate, but he also knows Cas seems to enjoy the look. ‘The messier the better,’ according to him.</p><p>Dean nods slowly, tapping his fingers against the rim of the counter behind his back.</p><p>Talking about this… the idea of actually doing it. It feels right. And that’s all he needs to know. </p><p>“Huh. Yeah, I mean- I would have appreciated that sort of thing. When I was hunting.”</p><p>“Was?” Cas questions, head tilted.</p><p>“Well- yeah,” Dean stammers, “I mean- if we’re doing this—” he grabs a plate and flips a few pancakes onto it. “—we won’t have much time for full-time hunting. And besides. We deserve it. <em>Peace</em>. Right?” </p><p>Cas smiles softly, blue eyes shining in the kitchen’s dim lighting. “Right.”</p><p>“I mean- “ Dean slides the plate into Cas’s waiting hands and leans forward on the countertop. “-we can still do the occasional job here and there—”</p><p>“Dean?”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Shut up and kiss me.”</p><p>Dean laughs. “As you wish.”</p><p>The kiss tastes like blueberries. Cas must have been sneaking handfuls of them while the pancakes were cooking. Apparently, they are his new favorite food. </p><p><em>And now they’re my new favorite flavor, </em>Dean thinks happily.</p><p>When he opens his eyes, Cas is squinting at him in a way that can only mean he once again did not understand the reference. </p><p>“Dude,” Dean groans, and goes to pour them both fresh mugs of coffee. “Okay we have to watch the Princess Bride. Along with a million other movies. We need a marathon.”</p><p>Cas takes a bite of his pancakes. He never pours syrup on them. ‘<em>Too many flavors,’ </em>apparently. It’s these little things, these new tidbits of information: Dean can never get enough of them. Such small details, but he tries to remember every single one. </p><p>Because when it concerns his favorite person, no detail can ever be insignificant.</p><p>“Yes, a marathon sounds nice,” Cas agrees. “Actually, Sam was saying the other week that you and I need to ‘Netflix and chill already,’ and I—”</p><p>He’s interrupted by the rather loud sounds of Dean choking on his coffee. </p><p>“Dean?” Cas squints at the coughing man, bent almost half over and sounding as if his lungs might make a surprise appearance.</p><p>“I’m- good—I-” Dean coughs out, taking a raspy breath. “Yeah. I’m gonna kill him.”</p><p>Cas sighs, returning to his pancakes. “Apparently this is yet another reference I do not understand.”</p><p>
  <em>Apparently. Sam, I swear….. </em>
</p><p>Dean grabs a towel to clean up the spewed coffee and pats Cas on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. You’ll uh- well— you’ll find out eventually.”</p><p>
  <em>Fuck I hope I’m not blushing as much as I think I am—</em>
</p><p>Cas opens his mouth, probably to ask for an immediate explanation, when Jack walks in wide-eyed and chipper as usual, and as usual: providing a perfect excuse to change the topic.</p><p>“Hey, kid,” Dean raises a plate questioningly. “Pancakes?”</p><p>Jack smiles, nodding gratefully, and takes a seat next to Cas. It’s kind of a funny picture, both of them seated with perfect posture and hands folded primly on the countertop. </p><p><em>Must be an angel thing, </em>Dean muses.</p><p>It’s been a while since he’s seen Jack. Turns out Kaia is quite the aspiring artist, and after taking one look at the paint palettes and large blank canvases, Jack did what he’d always done.</p><p>The kid was born to create. </p><p>So he’d been spending quite a lot of time at Jody’s place, painting with Kaia, and having paint fights with Claire. </p><p>Lucky for Jody, the nephilim is also skilled in the art of <em>uncreating: </em>specifically, his own very colorful messes.</p><p>“How are your paintings coming along, Jack?” Cas asks, and the boy’s eyes light up even at the mention of his favorite hobby.</p><p>“I am very happy with my progress! Claire says I have ‘mad skills,’”Jack raises finger quotes. “I am... not sure what that means, but I believe she meant it as a compliment.”</p><p>Dean shakes his head looking at the two of them. <em>What a pair of dorks. </em>“She did mean it as a compliment, kid. And coming from Claire— that’s huge.”</p><p>“If you say so. She especially likes the one I’m working on right now.” Jack says proudly, digging a fork and knife into his pancakes, and Dean passes him a dish of butter.</p><p>“You mean the one you’re working on for Cas and I, right?” Dean says with mock-innocence. “Remind me— what does it look like again?”</p><p>“You’ll have to wait and see” Jack replies primly, and begins spreading slices of butter on the still-warm stack of pancakes, much to Cas’s disgust. </p><p>He grimaces at the sight of the half-melted butter. “I still do not understand the appeal in spreading strange chunks of cream onto foods.”</p><p>“And I still do not comprehend your preference towards bland flavors,” Jack retorts mildly, spreading even more butter onto the second pancake, and Dean notices with amusement that he’s already used up half the stick.</p><p>And so it goes. Cas and Jack begin what will probably be a <em>very </em>long debate about the pros and cons of a variety of pancake toppings and Dean smiles, listening only partially to the conversation and fiddling with the ring on his finger. Thinking.</p><p>They haven’t talked much about the wedding. Dean knows Cas shares in his opinion that the smaller and simpler, the better. Family, friends, good food, good music. They’ve had enough drama for one lifetime. </p><p>Charlie, in a stroke of genius inspiration, had given them an early wedding present just a few days ago. Legal papers didn’t exactly count as a <em>challenge </em>in Charlie’s opinion, but the newly-engaged had been sincerely grateful for the gesture, considering the fact that ‘Jimmy Novak’ had been missing for years, Dean Winchester was wanted by every law enforcement institution in the nation, and Castiel, well— didn’t technically exist.</p><p>Having a hacker-extraordinaire as a best friend certainly has its perks.</p><p>There’s still one thing Dean needs to do though. </p><p>“Okay, weirdos. I’ll be back later.” Dean unties his apron and throws it at Cas’s face, who doesn’t even flinch, and Dean bites back a grin watching the angel just <em>sit </em>there with a freaking apron over his head. </p><p>
  <em>What a dork. God, I love him. </em>
</p><p>Laughing, Dean grabs up his keys, plants a kiss on his angel’s apron-draped head, and heads out the doorway, his chest bubbling with laughter, with lightness and—and—</p><p><em>There are no words. No words good enough, </em>Dean grins down at the floor, biting his lip. </p><p>“Dean!” Cas pokes his apron-free head out of the doorway, blue eyes squinted in a puzzled expression. “Where are you going?”</p><p>Dean strides up to his angel in a sudden fit of happiness. One kiss is <em>so </em>not enough, and <em>oh </em>when Cas opens his mouth in surprise and <em>oh </em>it tastes like warmth and pancakes and—</p><p>“I’ll be back soon,” Dean whispers in his angel’s ear. “There’s something I have to do first.”</p><p>Cas frowns. “I could come with you.”</p><p>“No- this is something I need to do on my own,” Dean assures him. “It’s nothing dangerous, Cas.”</p><p>“That’s what you would say even if it <em>were </em>something dangerous.”</p><p>Dean just grins and tosses his keys in the air before catching them. “You know me too well, angel.” </p><p>
  <em>But this isn't dangerous. This is good. This is so very, very good.</em>
</p><p>“Oh and—” Dean raises his voice as he walks away. “Don’t let Jack eat all the butter, okay?” </p><p><em>Did NOT think I’d ever have to say that, </em>Dean shakes his head. <em>Guess that’s what happens when you have a half angel kid with a superhuman metabolism.</em></p><p>Baby is waiting in the garage, as always, and Dean pats the wheel lovingly before popping his and Cas’s mixtape into the cassette player. It’s not a long drive, but it isn’t exactly short either. </p><p>But it’ll be worth it.</p><p>
  <em>Time to go see someone about a ring.</em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>---------------------------------------------------------------------</em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Well, Jesus, a guy saves your life <em>one </em>time and suddenly it’s all ‘do this’ and ‘do that’ for the rest of forever, huh?”</p><p>“Generally, yeah,” Dean deadpans, and Rufus snorts. </p><p>Rufus Turner isn’t the <em>best </em>artisan in the vicinity. And he certainly isn’t the most… charming. But with very little time, and a very particular request, Dean needs only one thing if he’s going to pull this off before Cas gets suspicious.</p><p>He needs someone who owes him a big favor. Rufus, unfortunately, is just that sort of someone.</p><p>“Look, pal,” Dean jabs a finger at the man’s grimy shirt. “ I drove almost two hours to get here. And I’m not the type of guy to normally put strings on my services—” Rufus snorts again.</p><p>“—but your sorry ass wouldn’t be standing here if it weren’t for me and my brother. So—” Dean pushes his way through the door, and pulls a piece of paper from his jacket pocket, shoving it in front of the man’s wide pouchy eyes. </p><p>“Can you do this or not?”</p><p>Rufus eyes the paper with distaste, which quickly turns to disbelief, and his eyes flicker from Dean to the paper, eyebrows raised. </p><p>“If you think I’m gonna even <em>try </em>to do- to do—” he flaps his hands vaguely at the scribbled note and tosses it back at Dean’s face with a petulant huff. “No way, pal. Ain’t gonna happen.”</p><p>Dean watches as Rufus shakes his head and takes a swig from a very dusty bottle. </p><p>“Heh. See— that’s funny.” With a lurch forward, Dean wraps a hand around the man’s oily white t-shirt, and pulls him close. </p><p>“Cause— and correct me if I’m wrong— but I’m pretty sure you owe me one. A <em>big </em>one.” Dean can smell the man’s foul breath, but pulls him closer anyway. </p><p>“I mean, I could just relieve you of this favor, if you want,” Dean shrugs cheerfully, pulling out a knife. “I’ll be quick. And then you won’t owe me anything. How’s that sound?” </p><p>“I- uh—” Rufus gulps, staring down at the point of the knife. “I would love to—”</p><p>“I’m sure you would.”</p><p>“-it’s just— I don’t have the materials.”</p><p>“Oh, well if that’s all then.” Dean lets go of the shirt, and grimaces, wiping his hand on his jeans. “I’ve got the stuff in my trunk.”</p><p>Rufus’s mouth curls down peevishly. “Fuck you, Winchester.”</p><p>“Yeah, right back atcha.” </p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>---------------------------------------------------------------</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>By the time Dean gets back to the bunker, he’s starving. Cas called a few hours ago, and Dean hadn’t felt the need to lie. He just hadn’t told the truth either.</p><p>“Cas, I’m not telling you what I’m doing. Just trust me. You’ll like it.”</p><p>“Dean- no- just tell me, I—”</p><p><em>“Cas,</em>” Dean repeated with a laugh. “Seriously. I’m not on a hunt or anything. It’s just, it’s a surprise. You’ll see.”</p><p>Of course, in his excitement, Dean had forgotten to pack food. And Rufus wasn’t the hospitable type. He also wasn’t the <em>friendly </em>type. So after several hours of listening to the grouchy artisan complain about everything from knee joints to diamond cutters, Dean had been just about ready to knife the guy, despite their deal.</p><p>And then he saw the ring. And oh, it was worth every minute of Rufus’s company.</p><p>Dean bites his lip, and pats the small box in his jacket pocket, just to make sure it’s still there. <em>I only hope Cas likes it.</em></p><p>“Dean! I thought I heard the door open.” Jack steps out into the map room just as Dean steps off the last metal stair. The boy is holding a bowl of something and honestly Dean is too hungry to care what it is. </p><p>He shoves a handful of the mix into his mouth and—</p><p><em>Oh. oh that was a mistake. </em>Dean coughs in his throat, gagging on whatever the hell it is Jack decided would be a good idea to make. “Jack- uh—”</p><p>“It’s my new salad!” Jack smiles proudly, apparently misunderstanding Dean’s reaction. “Cas and I made it, just a few minutes ago. We spent the day trying out new food combinations. What do you think?”</p><p>“Uh—” Dean squints into the bowl, trying desperately to swallow the lingering tastes. “Wait- is that- popcorn?”</p><p>“Yes,” Cas replies, walking into the room with a smile. He places a warm kiss to Dean’s cheek, smelling suspiciously of raw onions and— <em>mango</em>?</p><p>Jack digs a spoon through his concoction, showing Dean the individual ingredients. “There are also cherry tomatoes, onions, roasted peppers, and cilantro, lemon juice, salt and pepper. For spice,” he adds.</p><p>“And guacamole,” Cas says. </p><p>
  <em>Um. </em>
</p><p>“Oh— oh no, you guys didn’t make him eat that thing, did you?” Sam walks into the map room, and Dean has never been more grateful for his brother: the interrupting moose.</p><p>Jack frowns as if offended. “It is not a ‘thing’. It is a salad. And it’s the best snack I’ve ever eaten. Besides the chili pepper mango slices.”</p><p>Raising both eyebrows, Dean turns to look at his fiance, mouthing <em>‘chili pepper mango slices?’</em></p><p>Cas only smiles sheepishly, and shrugs, digging his spoon into the ‘salad’ once again. </p><p><em>Can it even count as a salad? If it has no lettuce? </em>Dean watches in half horror and half amusement as the pickiest eaters in the bunker enjoy what must be the strangest mix of flavors he’s ever seen. </p><p>“You are not kissing me with that mouth,” Dean grimaces. “Where are the mango slices, ‘cause those sounded half-okay.”</p><p>Cas gestures in the direction of the kitchen, still wearing a happy grin that reminds Dean of the time he spent the day eating a few hundred burgers. </p><p>Walking down the hallway, Dean pats the ring in his pocket once more. It’s illogical to imagine a ring jumping out of a jacket pocket all on its own… but Dean can’t help checking. Just one more time.</p><p>The kitchen is, surprisingly, cleaner than it’s been in a long while, despite the array of strange dishes packed inside the fridge, and Dean looks around in pleased satisfaction. Cas knows everything about him, after all, and his hatred of a messy kitchen is apparently not exempt from the angel’s notice. </p><p>Dean grabs a plate of chili-pepper mangos, and chews thoughtfully on the tangy slices of orange fruit. <em>Huh. pretty good actually. </em></p><p>Better than good. “Oh, you are coming with me,” Dean mutters at the plate of fruit, and grabbing a leftover burger in the fridge, pads quietly down the hall to his room. It’s nice. Not to feel the need for a beer. He hasn’t needed to go for a beer run in two full weeks. </p><p>Even in his room, the whiskey bottle sits, full, on his desk near the typewriter, and Dean sits down, fingers itching to alleviate the pressure from the words and phrases racing around in his mind.</p><p>While at Rufus’s place, he’d had plenty of time to think. The good kind of thinking. </p><p>The typewriter's keys clack noisily as Dean writes out these thoughts, as he once wrote poems and love letters in secret.</p><p>He forgets about the plate of food, and once he starts, it seems he won’t be able to stop until everything is out there in black ink for him to read. For Cas to read.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>Hey Cas. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Well, here I am once again. Writing down my thoughts, because I suck at saying them out loud. But I guess you probably already know that. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I gotta be honest with you, man. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. But I think that’s what love is about, isn’t it? Being lost in chaos together. Not knowing where you’ll go, or what will happen… only who you’ll be with. It’s us against the world. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cas, I don’t need a reason to love you. If someone asked me to give a reason, I wouldn’t know what to say… because there is no reason.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t get me wrong. There’s so many things I like about you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I like the way you don’t understand my jokes, and by the time I explain them, they’re not even funny anymore. But it’s worth it, because I get to see that squinty-eyed look that I’ll never get tired of. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I like how you’re always so damn eloquent. I don’t know how you do it, but you are. Even when I’m kissing the words out of your mouth, you still manage to construct poetry worthy of publication. Which is somehow incredibly hot, by the way.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I like how you swing your arms when you’re nervous. You think I haven’t noticed, but I do. How you shove your hands inside your pockets when you realize what you’re doing. And hell, I really like how good you look wearing my clothes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I like how you use emoticons as if they’re something to get excited about, I like how you try to help every person you meet, how you always ask me how I’m doing, even if we talked an hour before.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I like how much you love that stupid trenchcoat, and I like how you talk to me about the weirdest, most random things: but I never get bored, watching you ramble on. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I like how you mesmerize me, and how I can never seem to tune out of our conversations no matter how commonplace and simple they may be.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I like how we can talk for hours about small things like honeybees and end the conversation on big things, like heaven.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I like how you stand too close, I like how you hum the lyrics to Zeppelin’s greatest hits, I like the way you kiss me, and the way you hold my body close to yours at night, like I’m something worthy of your protection. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I like the way you smile in your sleep, the way you talk to Jack about mundane things like cereal, but you both somehow turn it into a debate of utmost importance.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And dammit, I like the way you look at me, the way you never glance away. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I like your selflessness. Your kindness. Your soft tone when you’re trying to convince me to eat a vegetable, or go to sleep. Your gentle respect you have for every living thing, the way you treat animals as if they’re literal people, the way you have conversations with them, no matter how many times I tell you they can’t understand what you’re saying. They really can’t, buddy. Sorry.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I like the way your hair curls in dark, messy tufts in the morning, the way it sticks up when you’ve been reading a book and absently rubbing a hand through it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I like how you prefer certain forks because ‘they taste different’ and how you always pick the green mug for your morning coffee.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I like how you understand me. Every part of me. And you’re not afraid to tell me when I’m wrong, but somehow, you always manage to do it in a way that makes it sound as if you agree with me.</em>
</p><p><em>I like so many things about you. But I can’t list a single reason for why I </em>love <em>you. </em></p><p>
  <em>Maybe I love you because I don’t need a reason. Maybe that’s what loving someone means. Or maybe you’re the first person I’ve ever really loved, and I just didn’t know what it felt like until now. </em>
</p><p><em>Maybe I only ever </em>liked <em>someone. </em></p><p>
  <em>Because, Cas, the truth is: I don’t know why you love me. And I don’t know why I love you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I just know that it’s the best feeling in the world. To love someone, and to have absolutely no idea why, but to be completely sure that you have never loved anything quite so much. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>We’re real. What I feel for you… it’s real. And that’s the only reason I need.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So… let’s do this. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I’d say ‘till death do us part,’ but… well. Been there, done that. A few times, in fact. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Guess you’re stuck with me, sunshine.</em>
</p><p><em>“Sunshine.” </em>Dean mouths the last word to himself, smiling softly at the image of Cas’s bewildered face the first time he heard the nickname.</p><p>Taking the ring out of his pocket, Dean flips it between his fingers, staring at the ebony color. The glass ‘diamond’ in the center. It’s simple. But it’s made from home. </p><p>Dean has always kept a lot of spare parts to the Impala, just in case. Even extra window panes, for those far-too-often occasions when bullet holes or monster heads would crash through his baby’s beautiful surface. </p><p>After a lot of very thorough complaining, Rufus had melted down the spare parts, painted the newly-fashioned band with the same black lacquer finish as Baby’s beautiful color, and polished a small chunk of window-pane glass down to the size and shape of a practical, but noticeable centerpiece. </p><p>Dean looks down at the two rings in his palm. One, silver with glimmering blue enochian glyphs: a true gift, holding a reminder of everything Cas had given up<em>. </em>The other ring, surly black, and symbolizing the two things Cas has always wanted more than anything. </p><p>Dean Winchester. </p><p>And a home. </p><p>Dean shakes his head, his smile growing. <em>Guess I can be a poetic son of a bitch sometimes after all. Who woulda thought.</em></p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ask Blu on twitter @jupiticas for their amazing salad recipe &lt;3<br/>(yes, blu, someday I will have to try it. hehehehehe. You're awesome, and I love seeing all your cooking creations. keep making weird stuff. Misha would be very, very proud &lt;3)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Profound</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey… blu here.<br/>So uhm,,,, it's the end.<br/>Of a truly fantastic story.<br/>If you asked me three months ago if I thought about co-writing a whole 90k word fanfic, I would’ve spit on your shoe or something.<br/>This is one of the best experiences of my life so far, writing this. I’ve met so many amazing people. we’ve laughed, screamed in anguish, and cried together, and I love all of you for it :&gt;<br/>But probably the most profound bit? Meeting Charlie. She let me have this experience, let me write with her. Over time, she would become one of my best friends I've ever had.<br/>So… thank you. Really, truly, thank you to everyone who left kudos, who left a comment, who reached out to us on socials, all of it.<br/>Peace out and still beautiful, still dean winchester &lt;3&lt;3&lt;3&lt;3&lt;3&lt;3&lt;3&lt;3</p><p>-Blu</p><p>p.s. Charlie and I are now in the planning stages of a new fic so look out for that hehehe</p><p> </p><p>Well, so here we are. The end.</p><p>If I'm being honest, guys: I am actually, literally crying right now. Um.</p><p>I never thought I'd write a 90k+ word fic. Like Blu said: I never would have believed it, if someone told me, 5 months ago… ha.</p><p>But I didn't do it alone, after all.</p><p>I couldn't have done this alone. I couldn't have done this without you thoughtful, supportive readers. Special thanks to Onloveslightwings2266. Nayeliq1. LovelyOtt98. WantsToFlyAfraidToFall. crowley_the_snek.</p><p>Truly, all of you: your guys's comments… You all have been a fantastically happy part in my life, and I really won't ever forget you. (although, since we're writing more fics in the future, heheh, guess this isn't truly goodbye.)</p><p>But the person I want to thank the most is Blu…thank you doesn't cut it.</p><p>This is making me super emotional right now goddamn.</p><p>Blu, you were my first comment. You said, "COLOR ME FUCKING INVESTED."</p><p>well… I'm invested, Blu. I am fucking invested in this friendship. </p><p>I am so VERY picky, with friendships, as an introvert. But you were easy to talk to right from the very first time we messaged each other.</p><p>And I got this…. Feeling. That this would be no cheap thing: this friendship would be, as you said,  profound.</p><p>( Yeah yeah, I know this is long. Deal with it. )</p><p>So… Blu: Thanks for being YOU, right from the beginning. Thanks for being the reason I smile. Thanks for texting me about small things, and big things, and explaining references, and asking me random questions, because I love that shit so much.</p><p>I can't wait to meet you in real life one day, because I owe you a lot of hugs, and you owe me a lot of good/weird food.</p><p>This fic was the beginning of everything. Blu, my awesome, talented, hilarious, beautiful friend: you mean so goddamn much to me, and I can't wait to keep writing with you, to keep talking with you.</p><p>So. I guess this isn't the end….</p><p>This is just the end of the beginning.</p><p>-Charlie</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“What do you think happens next?” Cas asks, his voice low, soft hair tickling Dean’s neck.</p><p>Dean smiles, gently prying the popcorn bowl from Cas’s hands and dipping over the side of the bed to place it on the floor. It’s a good thing <em>this </em>particular popcorn mix doesn’t include raw onions. Cas’s breath smells warm and buttery as he speaks, and Dean wonders if tonight’s kisses will once again be a new favorite flavor.</p><p>The credits to the Princess Bride are rolling upwards on Dean’s laptop screen, blue glow bouncing off their faces in the darkness. Of course, Sam and Jack had offered to let them have the lounge room, but Dean had refused. There is something… irresistibly reminiscent, traditional, watching movies with Cas on his <em>just </em>large enough mattress, the way Cas is forced to snuggle into his shoulder, or press closely into his thigh, just to see the screen. </p><p>
  <em>—we are literal fiancee’s and the thought of him snuggled into my damn shoulder still gets me feeling like this. </em>
</p><p>It’s only been a few hours since Dean brought back the ring. Since he’d typed out the letter. Every minute of the movie had been happy agony: the excitement of wanting to show off the ring, and <em>oh </em>the impatience, continually chiding himself with the reminder of <em>not yet. Not yet. </em></p><p>“You mean… after they rode off into the sunset?” </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Heh. Well… I imagine Wesley took a vacation to heal up,” Dean muses. “Dude went through quite the ordeal from being mostly dead all day.”</p><p>Cas huffs out a laugh, warm air into Dean’s neck, and <em>oh popcorn butter sweet— </em></p><p>“Same with the Inigo guy,” Dean shuffles a bit, closing the screen and sending the room into blackness. </p><p>
  <em>Too dark. Too much like— </em>
</p><p>His lungs collapse and suddenly each breath is too short and too small and not enough—</p><p>The feeling dissipates as Cas reaches his other hand to yank the cord on his bedside lamp, warming the room with a yellow glow. It’s almost like an entirely different dimension. Dean breathes. Neither of them say anything, because neither of them have to. </p><p>“You were talking about Inigo?” Cas prods, curling in closer.</p><p>
  <em>Right. Yes. The fake world. The movie world. </em>
</p><p>Once, these movies and shows were only distractions for Dean’s own life. <em>His fix. </em>TV was the only thing that made him feel as if he didn’t exist. </p><p>And sometimes, the fake characters made him smile… but smiles don’t mean happiness. </p><p>Sometimes, the fake characters made him laugh. And he learned laughter was the best way to hide the pain. </p><p>And for years, Dean Winchester <em>lived </em>out the phrase ‘fake it till you make it.’ He would answer the idiot-box’s siren call, and whisper this phrase to himself over and over.</p><p>
  <em>Fake it till you make it. Fake it till you make it. </em>
</p><p>Eventually, the phrase changed, though. </p><p>
  <em>Fake it till you make it. Or until you die. </em>
</p><p>He didn’t care either way. </p><p>So these fake lives, however depressing, however unrealistic, were the closest he could get to feeling comfort. Now… comfort takes its form in something far more effective. </p><p>“Yeah, Inigo. Y’know— every time I watch this movie, I wonder how the hell he didn’t die. Stabbed in the gut once, <em>twice </em>in the arms— that’s a lot.”</p><p>“You would know.”</p><p>“Yeah. Yeah I guess I would.” Dean blinks, remembering. He hadn’t forgotten, exactly… being impaled. But sometimes, being around Cas… <em>he makes it easy to move on.</em></p><p>“Still though. Dude jumped out a window— and rode off into the sunset like he hadn’t just been gutted through the main organs. I definitely wouldn’t have been able to do that.” </p><p>Cas considers, then shrugs, soft hair tickling Dean’s earlobe. “I suppose. Still. It makes for a victorious ending. A good ending—not simply because it is <em>happy, </em>per-se, but because it teaches a valuable lesson. It… inspires; motivates. And that is the point, I think. As long as the viewers are satisfied, and are left feeling better, or more inspired, than when they began…. I think that is what matters.”</p><p>Dean sighs as he hears Sam and Jack laughing all the way from the ‘Dean-Cave.’ <em>How can they possibly find something to laugh about in a friggin’ National Geographic special. </em></p><p>“But,” Cas continues, “What happened to Wesley and Buttercup? What is their good ending?”</p><p>“Y’know, I think someone wrote a sequel. Buttercup’s Baby or whatever.”</p><p>“So… they had a child together?”</p><p>“Yeah. I guess— why all the questions, Cas?” Dean chuckles, pulling slightly away from his angel’s warm body. Cas’s face looks stonier than it should.</p><p>“Dean…” </p><p><em>Oh, </em>Dean realizes. </p><p>This is Cas’s scared voice. No, <em>terrified </em>voice. It isn’t a very noticeable change, to a stranger, they would think nothing of it: perhaps his throat is sore, voice higher than its usual graveled tone. </p><p>But Dean knows better. </p><p>Dean has heard that pleading, heavy voice, laden by all the things which cannot be changed, even by a changed angel. He knows the voice well, for it is sometimes his own. </p><p>“Dean I just—” he swallows. A soft breath. “I want to be sure that after everything <em>they </em>went through…. They got the happy ending they deserved. For good, I mean. That- that their ride into the sunset wasn’t the last happy moment before everything went wrong again. Before one of them dies, or gets injured beyond repair, or…. I just want to know- that their rightfully stolen happy ending… isn’t stolen back from them.”</p><p>Dean falls silent. What does one say, in a moment like this? Because Cas isn’t talking about the movie anymore. </p><p>“Cas… it’s okay. We- we can have this.”</p><p>
  <em>— but what if Cas is right, what if the Empty comes back anyway, for revenge, what if something worse happens what if this is only a small bit of respite before everything goes to shit again what if—</em>
</p><p>“Cas.” Dean clears his throat, forcing the words to appear, if not by instinct, then by force. <em>Cas needs me. </em></p><p>“-we’ll always worry. About that stuff, I mean. It won’t go away. And- and I think Buttercup and Wesley will worry too, y’know? Ain’t like they killed Prince Humperdink either. I mean— they <em>should’ve, </em>cause that coward would be way easier to kill than <em>our </em>enemy, but— the point is… It’s good to worry.”</p><p>Cas raises an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound like something you would say.”</p><p>“I know. But I’ve changed too,” Dean says. “And now- now I know that it is so good to worry, Cas-” he laughs at the sudden epiphany of it all. “It’s so damn good to worry because it means you have something worth losing.”</p><p>
  <em>And it’s a hell of a lot better to worry about losing love, than to live in a great worriless expanse of loveless freedom. Freedom ain’t worth shit if you don’t have someone to enjoy it with. And worry is the least of the lonely person’s problems. I would know.</em>
</p><p>“So…” Cas breathes. He sounds hopeful. He sounds beautiful. “... this is our happy ending?”</p><p>“No,” Dean smiles, biting his lip, and he feels the inner glow of something warm curling inside his chest, bubbling its way up into his throat, his lips, his head. “No, definitely not, Cas.”</p><p>“This is our happy <em>beginning.” </em></p><p>Cas looks at him for a moment, and Dean wonders if he said something wrong, if it sounded too cheesy, it if wasn’t right<em>—</em></p><p>“And you say you aren’t good with words.”</p><p>“-I’m not, Cas, I—”</p><p>As it turns out, Cas <em>does </em>taste like buttered popcorn. </p><p>Dean hums happily into Cas’s mouth, nudging deeper into the kiss, and oh, it’s never enough, but tonight— it’s <em>really </em>not enough. He feels a small sound of desperation welling up in his chest, and Cas’s lips twitch into a smile as if he can hear the things Dean wants to say.</p><p>The once-angel pulls away, just a breath of a moment, a low whisper into Dean’s ear: “I feel the same.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh.</em>
</p><p>It’s enough to demolish Dean’s instincts, and it feels only a second passes before he is twisted downward, back pressed into the bed, and he’s staring upwards into widened eyes. Green meets blue, and for all the doubts these eyes have held in the past, certainty had somehow managed to become a familiar look. </p><p>Still, anxiety drags on each of Dean’s breaths, pulling his excitement inwards to a darker place of insecurities and unhelpful worries, and he wonders how an activity so <em>human, </em>so familiarto himself, can suddenly seem new and paralyzingly uncharted. </p><p>He feels his hands shaking as Cas’s long fingers pull at the edge of Dean’s white t-shirt, sliding it off with simple ease, and Dean <em>shouldn’t </em>feel embarrassed but the feeling leaks in like an unwelcome heat, a coiled spring in his chest tightens.</p><p>
  <em>—so what if you don’t look like you’re twenty anymore, so what if you don’t look like Sam, this is stupid, Cas has rebuilt every molecule of your being do you really think he’d love you more if you had freakin abs, no, this is stupid—</em>
</p><p><em>“</em>You’re so beautiful<em>.” </em></p><p>Dean blinks upwards to see Cas’s gaze sweeping over every inch of his skin, slowly, as if savoring, as if remembering. “So beautiful,” Cas whispers again, blue falling in line with green, and Dean tries not to scoff, because it’s <em>Cas, </em>and Cas doesn’t joke around about this stuff, but it comes out, a harsh sound. </p><p>“I’m not, Cas.”</p><p>A squint. A head tilt. <em>He’s the one who’s truly beautiful, </em>Dean thinks bitterly. <em>In every way. </em></p><p>“Dean… of course you are. You are always beautiful.” Cas responds, certainty strengthening every word.</p><p>“I can’t <em>always </em>be beautiful Cas, that’s impossible,” Dean rolls his eyes, and shifts on the bed to prop himself into a more respectable position. “Not when I’m sleeping. Sometimes I spit and drool and, I ain’t exactly a polite eater, and sometimes I wake up and I look like shit, hell, a <em>lot</em> of the time I look like shit, because this life, and—”</p><p>“Dean,” Cas sighs and looks up at the ceiling, as if questioning the universe for why it handed him such a seemingly thick-skulled person to fall in love with.</p><p>“All the things you just described: that’s just being human. And forgive me, but being human is exactly why I fell in love with you in the first place,” Cas says patiently. “Did I ever tell you what angels are like?”</p><p>“Ha.” Dean swats at Cas’s arm. “I <em>met </em>some, dork, remember?”</p><p>“No. In their real forms, I mean.”</p><p>“Oh…” Dean frowns, trying to remember. “No, then, I guess not. They probably don’t drool in their sleep though.”</p><p>“No. They don’t drool in their sleep because they don’t have saliva. And they don’t sleep. And they don’t have mouths. Or lips—”</p><p>“-okay, okay I get it,” Dean huffs. <em>You’d think all this time spent around me would teach the guy a thing or two about sarcasm. </em></p><p>“They are cold. Unfeeling.” Cas stares off into the lamp. “Unfathomable to you, I cannot adequately describe them, or their true forms. What was once <em>my </em>true form, I suppose. But that’s not my point.”</p><p>“The point is that I do not see your human behaviors as something to be revolted by. I see your blemishes as nothing more than everything that makes you human.”</p><p><em>I feel a speech coming on, </em>Dean thinks. “Cas- it’s okay, I didn’t mean to ruin the—” but Cas doesn’t acknowledge the interruption. He only carries on stubbornly. </p><p>
  <em>Well, I guess I did teach him some things after all.</em>
</p><p>“Dean, when I say you are beautiful, I only mean that I didn't fall in love with your skin when it was clear from gashes and scars and blood. I didn't fall in love with your eyes only when they shone with happiness. I didn't fall in love with your sleeping face only when your mouth remained shut.”</p><p>Cas leans in closer, swinging one leg over Dean, straddling his fiance’s lap with a gentle closeness that hints only secondarily towards sexual intentions. </p><p>Right now, Cas’s touch serves to comfort, to embrace not only with arms but with every part he can put into contact. </p><p>And Dean is speechless, the words drying out with his tongue. But he doesn’t need to speak. He needs only to listen. To touch. To be<em>. </em></p><p>Cas wraps both hands around the back of Dean’s head, his words slow and lingering. </p><p>“...I fell in love with every part of you, at every moment, you have never been some object of my desire. You are always beautiful to me, because you are the one I love.”</p><p><em>“</em>And it isn't that I <em>ignore </em>your cracks and imperfections, I see them, and I love them too,” Cas breathes out, trailing a kiss across Dean’s jawline, and there seems to be no rush, as if they have all the time in the world to speak their truths: and Dean realizes, then: </p><p>
  <em>We do.</em>
</p><p>“Because today: this is what you look like.” Another dragging touch of warm lips, only lower, and the touch makes Dean shiver.</p><p>“And tomorrow, you will look perhaps a bit different…” The hand still behind Dean’s head crawls upward, combing and tangling fingers through his soft locks, and <em>oh yeah, that’s definitely gonna make some sex hair, </em>Dean inhales sharply, trying to keep his heartbeat in check.</p><p>“But you will always be beautiful to me. You will always be beautiful, Dean Winchester,” Cas breathes, and oh this feeling shouldn’t be real, this apprehension that all rules are about to be tossed out the damn window, that two minds will soon be lost in a small lamplit bedroom.</p><p>The Home feeling seeps from the bunker’s walls, and into the fallen angel’s lips, and Dean realizes home was never a ‘place’ after all.</p><p>Home is <em>this. </em>The profound knowledge that someone loves you, and wants you to stay, that you feel the same.</p><p>Home is the feeling you get when you can breathe in peaceful relief, when you smile at the familiar love you feel for everything around you, no matter how mundane, because there are memories written into the walls and the objects, but the memories did not originate in such lifeless things, not at all. </p><p><em>Fuck, if this is home, I haven’t been home nearly long enough, </em>Dean thinks, whimpering a soft noise in the back of his throat, feeling Cas against him, breaths getting quicker, and there’s a hand at the center of his chest, tracing, searching for steadiness that won’t be found in a moment such as this.</p><p>And as Cas dips him down into the mattress, their mingled sounds slowly working to unfold the last secret between them, Dean remembers when he thought red was a bad color. </p><p>Yes, it is the color of the blood he hadn’t been able to remove from his jacket. </p><p>But it is also the color of Cas’s flushed and swollen lips, as he pulls away for air, blue eyes turned upwards.</p><p>Yes, red is the color of anger, hot and straining.</p><p>But it is also the color that comes to the surface as Dean grips his fingers into Cas’s back, a back that once held wings and proof of an angel’s blue grace.</p><p>Yes, red is the color of hellfire.</p><p>But it is also the color of Dean’s pulse as Cas steals the rest of his sentence with a wordless sound that sighs of blue ocean waves, a beautiful rhythm.</p><p>Yes, red is the color of pain. </p><p>And it is still pain, but just for a moment, and it is the color of the marks Dean leaves on a dark haired man’s neck, the heat from their breaths, a flush in their cheeks that will reappear tomorrow morning when Sam inevitably asks the question.</p><p>Red is the color Dean feels in his body, a hot brimming warmth.</p><p>The color of Cas’s voice when he whispers <em>I love you, </em>the color of Dean’s cheeks as his mouth speaks words of desperate desire, the color of all and everything that is felt when fire meets fire and control is withheld.</p><p>So red is beautiful after all. But it can’t be beautiful alone. </p><p>Red is the color Dean has felt on many occasions with strangers who weren’t looking for a home. </p><p>But this time… Dean will wake up to blue. A blue blanket pulled over their bodies. A blue tie draped over a chair. A blue glow gleaming in silver on his finger. And a blue eyed man who knew nothing but clear skies until he fell into hellfire for a sinner who showed him the color red.</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>
  <em>------------------------------------------------------</em>
</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>They say that when you love someone, their face becomes yours.</p><p>When you truly love someone, the only thing that can affect their appearance is how you think of them.</p><p>When you love someone, you don't care about their thinning eyebrows, or the way their chin wrinkles into their neck when they smile, or their receding hairline turning gray.</p><p>When you love someone, their face is not a face anymore: it's a memory. A collection of moments. A flashback to all the times you touched. It is your reason to laugh and the source of your deepest pain. It is countless reasons to keep living, and never-ending reasons to cry.</p><p>Their smile, however many wrinkles it creates, has been there in every unforgettable moment of your simultaneous existence together. It has been the thing that made you realize you were happy.</p><p>Their skin, no longer youthful and glowing, has nonetheless been the comforting warmth that has kept you alive, and the soft touch you feel every night.</p><p>When you love someone, time does not age them. Age does not change them. And appearance does not matter. When you love someone, truly love someone, their face is no longer theirs, but yours also.</p><p>Well damn, they'd both been through some shit. And Cas has his scars, just like Dean. Cas has the dark bags under his eyes and the crows feet when he smiles..</p><p>But God, Dean doesn't care. More than that— he loves these things. Because they are not ugly and they are not a part to be ignored. They are Cas. And they are his, to look at, and to remember.</p><p>And now there is one more memory to add to that face.</p><p>“Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean murmurs into the dark mess of hair pressed against his shoulder.</p><p>“Mmph,” the Dark Mess Of Hair says.</p><p>“Someone needs coffee,” Dean chuckles softly, sliding out from under the warm arm—despite an ensuing grunt of protest—and pads quietly out the door into the hallway, praying Sam is still asleep. It’s too early in the morning for his brother’s inevitable teasing.</p><p>But of course, it’s never too early for Sam. He’s peering into the fridge, still dressed in damp running clothes, and smelling distinctly of exercise, health and fresh air. Dean hates it.</p><p>Apparently, his younger brother is also blessed with superhuman hearing abilities, because he turns around just as Dean is about to sneak out again. “So,” Sam smirks, leaning against the fridge door. </p><p>Dean coughs and tries to look appropriately puzzled. “So… what?” Sam gives another look of smug amusement, eyebrow raised. </p><p>“I think you <em>know </em>what, Dean.”</p><p>“Oh shut your sweaty face, Exercise Boy,” Dean retorts, turning towards the coffee maker to hide his own smile. It’s hard to act properly inflicted with a case of morning-agitation when all he can think about is Cas’s face, and hearing those filthy words escape the once angel’s mouth, mixed in with poetry the likes of which Dean had never heard, which is saying a lot, considering Cas is always spouting sappy shit, and <em>oh </em>the sounds Cas can make….</p><p>He bites his lip in an attempt at a straight face, and turns back around with two full coffee mugs in hand. It’s a surprise, however: Sam’s face. No teasing smirk. Just… </p><p>Happiness. Pride. Quiet, and solemn: but obvious in the absence of any joking remarks, obvious in the way Sam looks as if any moment he might walk over for a hug, obvious in the way Sam says his next words. “Thank you, Dean.”</p><p><em>What? Thank me for what? </em>Dean opens his mouth but Sam interjects. “For allowing yourself to find happiness. You’ve always deserved it. Thanks for… being yourself. Finally.”</p><p>“Dude,” Dean frowns. “Why all the sappy rainbow flag shit all of a sudden? Cas and I have been together for a couple months now. It’s just sex.”</p><p>“No,” Sam smiles softly, as if he knows something Dean has forgotten. “It’s not ‘just sex,’ Dean, and you know it. Can’t you just let me be proud of you without any snarky remarks?”</p><p>“Nope, guess not, bitch,” Dean grins, and turns to leave before his hopelessly teary-eyed moose brother can try for a sweaty hug. </p><p>“Yeah whatever, jerk. Oh and—” Sam raises his voice as Dean walks away. “Tell Cas to keep his shouting to a minimum next time. Even Eileen would’ve been able to hear that, and that’s saying something.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>----------------------------------</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Let’s get married.”</p><p>Dean spits a mouthful of coffee back into his mug. Too hot. He couldn’t have swallowed it anyway if he tried. </p><p>“Dean?”</p><p>“Uh—” <em>yeah I heard you. I heard you and I’m trying to get my bearings cause that’s not exactly something you just spill on a guy at eight in the morning with no warning and—“</em>Married, you mean like— today married?” </p><p>“Yes, today. Right now,” Cas says. </p><p>“Um—” but Dean is interrupted by Cas shoving a paper note in his lap. </p><p><em>Ah. </em>Dean can make out the typewriter words, a few smudges of chili mango juice on one corner of the parchment. “Did you… read it?”</p><p>“I did,” Cas says softly, and Dean nods. He nods again. <em>Stop nodding. Say something, you idiot. </em></p><p>“Did you… did you find the—” </p><p>Cas holds out his left hand, displaying the ebony ring. “Dean. Let’s get married. Right now.”</p><p>There is a softness in his dark blue stare, and the room dissolves as Dean’s lungs betray him.</p><p>
  <em>Angel. Savior. Friend. Best friend. Lover. Bondmate. Fiance. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Husband. </em>
</p><p><em>Cas is going to be my husband, </em>Dean thinks giddily. And yet, husband does not seem to eradicate the other titles. Rather, it encompasses them, combines them. </p><p>“As you wish,” Dean whispers. </p><p>And his smile is slow, and it becomes him, until he feels his chest might not last through this day—<em>and Cas is here, and I am here—</em></p><p><em>It’s strange what the smallest things can make me feel, </em>Dean thinks. <em>Like right now. I’m sitting here in the same room that was once my hell, and it is messy with things that finally have meaning, and I watch Cas’s eyes like they are my favorite movie and I remember.</em></p><p>Many things are being remembered. All more beautiful than the last. And Dean feels it, and everything looks light and and here it is: </p><p><em>I am here. We are here. And our future is real, and I </em>have <em>a future— </em>even in his mind the thoughts are a cheap summary, for words will never suffice when you are trying to explain the infinite. </p><p>This desire to wake up, to live, to do, to be, the knowledge that your existence is ahead of you, that all you have to do is live with the person you live for, and the goosebumps start to race, and oh how beautiful it is, to even just exist. </p><p>But how beautifully rare it is: <em>wanting </em>to exist. </p><p>------------------------------</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>If I'm honest, it felt like love</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And now we're ready for the ending, we're hand-in-hand</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Sam hadn’t asked questions when the Dean snuck his trenchcoated angel out the front door of the bunker. Cas had left a note, against Dean’s insisting remarks that Sam wouldn’t notice their absence due to a certain several-hour-long skype call with a certain person. </p><p>But Cas had left a note anyway, and though the words were few and short, Dean felt a jumping sensation in his stomach when he read them.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Dean and I will be back later. We are getting married.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>-Cas</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The nearest church is about an hour’s drive, but neither of them mind. There’s no such thing as boredom when one has good music, and even better company.</p><p>
  <em>A life so colorful, we didn't even need a plan</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If I'm honest, it feels like love</em>
</p><p>The lyrics strum out of the radio, and if Sam were here, he’d complain about the volume, but Cas only smiles, shaking his head, and Dean turns the knob even further, belting out the lyrics with all the confidence and comfortability of one who loves, and knows he is loved, and such are the euphoric side-effects of those lucky enough to experience both feelings at once. </p><p>People say your wedding day is supposed to be the best day of your life. </p><p>But as Dean stands before the minister, in a dusty church with stained glass windows and rough wooden pillars, and a musty scent in the air, he can’t stop smiling: because this is <em>not </em>going to be the happiest day of his life.</p><p>And Cas, the angel he fell in love with, the ratty trenchcoat and the backwards tie, and that smile reserved just for him, and that stupidly endearing head tilt, stands before him. </p><p>The best friend he loves more than anything, the savior who raised him from perdition, the angel who sacrificed everything for him, the secret lover who thought his love would never be matched: this cornflower-eyed, wild haired human stands before him, this awkward, wise, dorky, ancient weirdo stands here with the audacity to <em>love </em>Dean Winchester, against fate, against heaven, against God and hell and better judgement and common sense and even against death. </p><p>And so Dean knows that this day will <em>not </em>be the happiest day of his life. Pleasure can be planned, but happiness comes of its own accord.</p><p>‘<em>I was found the moment I laid a hand on you in hell,’ </em>Cas says that night, an arm curled around Dean’s body, a whisper in the dark. And this is an unexpected happiness.</p><p>Sam will plan a celebratory gathering, and this will be a planned pleasure, welcome and exciting: but meek in the presence of the public kisses that Cas will press to Dean’s cheek, and the quiet, sudden emptiness of the bunker’s library when everyone has left, and the sound of whiskey in clinking glasses, and the taste of whiskey on Cas’s lips: and these will be the unexpected, and the happiest moments of them all, the small things. </p><p>The everyday rarities. </p><p>And they will plan to build a home and fill it with their dreams, and they will plan a future they will learn to acknowledge their deservance of, and they will plan events and holidays, but shining brighter will be all the unplanned moments in between. </p><p>All the happiness that comes from just being,</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>-----------------------------</p><p><br/>
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</p><p>
  <strong>Seven Years Later</strong>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>Sunlight streams through the open living room windows, leaving everything in a bright yellow glow. Particles of dust swirl in the beams.</p><p>“Dean, lunch is ready. Do you want to eat with the guests or upstairs?” Cas calls through the kitchen. </p><p>“Uh, upstairs,” Dean gets up from his leather armchair. “I want to be available when Sam, Eileen, Jack, and Atlas get here.”</p><p>“Sweetheart, you know they’re not getting here until two, and the guests leave at noon,” Cas presses a kiss to his husband’s temple.</p><p>“Well, you never know, they might get here early,” Dean grumbles. </p><p>It’s been seven years, and a lot has changed.</p><p>Dean and Cas moved to Vermont and opened a B&amp;B: serving as a rest stop for hunters and civilians alike. It’s a large airy light-blue house with tall windows and oak trees and big lawns surrounding it. Cas has a vegetable and herb garden in the back, with an orchard beyond. They have guinea pigs, and chickens, and Dean is constantly catching his dorky husband having one-sided conversations with the feathered things while collecting the morning eggs.</p><p>Sam and Eileen have a daughter, Eleanor, and another baby in the oven. They live about two hours away, on a lake. Sam went back to law school, got a degree, made a bunch of cash. Kids aren’t cheap, and hunting doesn’t exactly pay the bills. </p><p>But neither has it been forgotten. The bunker’s one and only key resides under the Leahy family’s watchful eyes, as do mounds of lore and old books which Sam insisted on bringing with him to their new house <em>‘in case a hunter needs help, like Bobby did for </em>us<em>, Dean. Stop teasing me about all my cellphones.’</em></p><p>And of course, his nerdy brother couldn’t simply stop there. About two years back, he started a podcast exclusively for hunters, called ‘<em>So Get This.’ </em>There are episodes twice a week, outlining the how’s and why’s of tampering with everything from demons to leviathan, but mostly, Sam considers it to be his own proud contribution to the Men of Letters legacy— passing on knowledge… only this time, in a global, and more modern-day approach. </p><p>Once he’s catalogued the highlights of his current stash of books, Sam restocks with the next shelf, visiting Claire and Kaia on the way to and from the bunker. </p><p>And Dean will never admit it…. But it’s a pretty genius system. Hunters staying at his and Cas’s B&amp;B are constantly chatting over ‘Sam Winchester’s new research findings.’ </p><p>And Dean listens, and smiles. Because they’ve all changed. But some things still remain the same.</p><p>Jack moved to New York City, became an artist, and met a kid named Atlas. They’ve been dating for about a year, and are flying up, then getting a ride with Sam’s family. </p><p>Although his powers have regenerated completely, Jack prefers to save them for smaller-scale miracles: healing, occasional hunts and such, saying that ‘there’s only so much world destruction you can interfere with, before your well-intended miracles turn into irreversible damage.’ For a ten year old, Jack is wise.</p><p>Life is good.</p><p>“Come on, honey. It would be rude.” Cas murmurs. “They came all this way.”</p><p>“Well, you asked! Why ask if you’re only prepared for one answer?” Dean complains loudly as he follows the dark-haired man down the slightly creaky steps into a sunlit dining room. </p><p>There are no lace doilies at <em>this </em>B&amp;B, in accordance to Dean’s emphatic hatred of the crocheted nightmares, nor are there any hints of ‘flowery grandmother crap,’ as Dean calls it. But Cas insists on keeping a vase of sunflowers and cornflowers in the middle of the table, where a family of five from Dallas, Oregon currently sit.</p><p>“Y’know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much sunlight. It tends to rain 24/7 where we live. Right, kids?” the dad, Robert, says cheerfully from his chair at the dining table.</p><p>“Yeah, I think I might need to buy about 3,487,587 pairs of sunglasses,” the eldest boy deadpans, digging his fork into a plate of scrambled eggs.</p><p>Dean laughs, admiring the ambitious height of the boy’s scrambled-egg-pile. “Gift shop right around the corner.” </p><p>Cas leans down to murmur in Dean’s ear. “Tea or coffee?”</p><p>“Coffee,” Dean answers, stretching his neck to press a quick kiss to his husband’s lips. “Please,” he adds after a moment.</p><p>“As you wish.”</p><p>Dean swears he will never get tired of seeing Cas’s attempt at a wink.</p><p>The meal goes smoothly, but Dean can’t focus. Cas is chatting with the family, but Dean is quiet; he’s too excited. It’s been <em>way</em> too long since he saw his brother, or his son, and when the family leaves, Dean is practically <em>jumping</em> with energy.</p><p>Not even half an hour later, tires crunch the gravel driveway outside. “Sammy!” Dean shouts as he stampedes down the wooden stairs. “Cas, move your ass! Family’s here!”</p><p>A huge gray minivan awaits. Sam, in all his moose-ness glory, steps out of the car, Eileen following not far behind, somewhat hindered by her large baby bump. Dean grips his brother tightly, then Eileen. </p><p>“Sammy! Eileen! How was the drive?” Dean simultaneously signs and says. </p><p>“I may be pregnant, but I can still survive two hours,” Eileen jokes. “In fact, the hardest part so far is probably Sam’s incessant nagging.”</p><p>Sam blushes. “It’s because I love you, that’s all.”</p><p>Dean laughs. “Eileen’s a big girl, she’s got this.” </p><p>Sam says nothing but rolls his eyes.</p><p>“Jack! Atlas! How was your flight?” Cas greets his son and his joyfriend. </p><p>“Cas! I’ve missed you so much!” Jack buries his face in his dad’s neck. “Atlas, this is one of my dads, Castiel. My other one, Dean, is over there.”</p><p>A mop of dyed-green hair dips its way out of the car, revealing a shorter kid with brown eyes and chocolate skin. “Hiya, Castiel! Jack’s told me a lot about you.” </p><p>“Nice to meet you as well, Atlas,” Cas shakes their hand.</p><p>“Hey, buddy! What’s up?” Dean shoots Jack a sunny grin. “And you must be Atlas! Awesome to finally see you.” he envelopes both of them in a hug.</p><p>“And who is <em>this</em> little lady?” Dean scoops a little form out of the backseat. </p><p>Eleanor giggles, dark hair flying. “Hi, Uncle Dean! Uncle Cas!” she shrieks. </p><p>Cas boops her on her nose. “Hello, Eleanor. How are you? Preparing to be a good big sister soon?”</p><p>“Yes, I am! I’m gonna be the <em>bestest</em> big sister!” </p><p>Dean stays outside to help Sam with the bags, while everyone else walks inside, the separate conversations mingling into incoherency. </p><p>“Dude, I don’t know how, but Eleanor is by chance the cutest niece I’ve ever had.” </p><p>Sam rolls his eyes. “She’s your <em>only</em> niece.”</p><p>“So? Still the cutest.” Dean shrugs as he hauls a suitcase out of the trunk. “Jesus, I’m getting old, can’t even lift a fucking <em>suitcase</em>.”</p><p>“One, don’t swear. Kids, remember?” Sam admonishes, “and two, you used to hunt demons for sport, now you’re struggling with that?”</p><p>Dean attempts to swat at the taller man; Sam dodges. “Leave me and my old-ness alone.”</p><p>In the kitchen, Eileen, Atlas, and Cas are chatting while Jack and Eleanor play in the living room.</p><p>Dean catches Cas’s eye and smiles. It’s been long; too long, since their whole family has been together.</p><p>“So, Eileen, have you thought of baby names?” Cas asks softly.</p><p>“Yes, actually,” Eileen pats her belly. “If it’s a girl, Lucy, and if it’s a boy, Maxwell.”</p><p>“That’s not by chance Beatles songs, is it?” Atlas calls.</p><p>“Jack, I <em>knew</em> I liked this one,” Dean nods at Jack approvingly, and Sam rolls his eyes before answering Atlas’s question.</p><p>“Yes, <em>Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds</em> is my favorite Beatles song, and <em>Maxwell’s Silver Hammer </em>is Eileen’s,” he signs the words as well as speaking them. After 6 years of being married, Sam is almost as fluent in ASL as Eileen. </p><p>After a little lull in conversation, Cas offers a plate of homemade croissants, which everyone takes to immediately, especially Dean and Jack.</p><p>It’s been a tough road.</p><p>So many ups and downs, if their lives were turned into a rollercoaster, it probably wouldn’t even be legal to ride it.</p><p>Although, as Dean gazes amongst the warm kitchen full of the people he loves, he realizes something.</p><p>Sure, there’s so many reasons why he and Cas are real. Obviously. </p><p>But the biggest one?</p><p>This. This, right here. </p><p>The way they love.</p><p>Not only each other, but everybody around them.</p><p>Love was always supposedly that “cheesy girl thing.”</p><p>But now Dean’s truly experienced it?</p><p>It’s true. It’s bona-fide, genuinity.</p><p>It’s the most real, profound, thing on this planet.</p><p><br/>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Remember to subscribe to this fic so you can receive notifications when we post a new chapter!</p><p>Comments &amp; kudos make our day, thanks ya'll ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥</p></blockquote></div></div>
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